


It is the Cause, My Soul

by DrSallySparrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 58,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrSallySparrow/pseuds/DrSallySparrow
Summary: Having completed her N.E.W.T.s Hermione decides to pursue a niggling interest in muggle literature and study at Oxford. Little does she know, she isn't the only Hogwarts alum looking for answers among the dreaming spires. When a performance of Othello brings her together with two former enemies, sparks can't help but fly.





	1. Excellent Wretch

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted just under a year ago on FFN, thought I'd repost it here. If you have any questions feel free to message me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first piece of HP fanfic that I ever wrote, and it turned out to be a rambling multi-chapter love letter to Draco Malfoy and William Shakespeare.
> 
> Dramione was my original OTP but you'll see as I post other fics that I actually tend to write rarer pairs. I'm a literature geek and lots of my writing has literary references, but this is the first and most overt - my favourite fandom and my favourite play...although that won't come until the second chapter.
> 
> Here for you as a first little taste we have how-Hermione-went-to-Oxford, and also how I am going to dismiss any hint of a continuing relationship with Ron (still haven't forgiven you for tying her down like that, JK). Obviously all characters, Hogwarts, etc et al belong to JK Rowling, and you may not know this but Othello was written in 1603 by William Shakespeare. Who isn't me. So I don't own any of that either. But this story borrows liberally from the first folio text. I'd love to know what you think AO3! 
> 
> But now our curtain rises on the dreaming spires of Oxford...

She considered her appearance in the tall mirror as she gathered her things from where they lay scattered across her desk. Keys, pens, purse. Her wand she had already slipped up her sleeve, the baggy knit ideal for concealing the holster. The books in her shoulder bag made her posture lopsided, but then she looked no different to any other student wandering around Oxford. It will be fine, she thought to herself. It always was.

The door made its usual too-loud slam as she headed down the corridor from her room, and she could imagine the others on the staircase waking up to it, heads fuzzy from too many beers the night before. The ghost of a smile hovered around her mouth, and she flicked her head to send an errant curl back behind her ear as she headed out into the January cold.

* * *

They had thought she was mad when she told them what she had planned, but McGonagall had already helped her fake the necessary certificates and marks. Homeschooling, as it turned out, made for quite the convenient lie. Ron had screwed up his face in confusion and Harry had just stared when she showed them the acceptance letter.

"But…" Ron had finally managed to say, "But they'll all be _muggles_."

Hermione had felt her left eyebrow raise a fraction with annoyance, and had seen Harry swallow nervously. "I'm quite aware that they'll be muggles, Ronald. But then, I thought I was a muggle until I was eleven."

Harry had frowned, looking as though he was at least trying to understand. "You really think that it will be useful? Literature I mean?"

She sighed, wondering how to explain the instinct that had led her to this, "Reading _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ led us to the answers about the Deathly Hallows didn't it? And I was re-reading the book this year, while we were revising for NEWTs-"

"How the bloody hell did you manage to read ANOTHER book with all the revision you did?!" Ron interrupted her with a splutter, but he shut up when Hermione shot him a look.

She inhaled deeply, "Anyway, it occurred to me that there is loads of folklore that wizards don't even pay attention to because it's all part of the muggle canon. Magic appears in literature again and again, and it's always interpreted as allegory or metaphor." She ignored Ron's pained expression, "But I started to wonder, what if some of it isn't just muggle allegory? What if it's about actual magic? There are hundreds of spells and objects that we've just assumed are lost, but what if they're actually hidden in plain sight?"

Harry was looking at her with the beginnings of a grin on his face, "That might just be one of the most brilliant things you've ever come up with, Hermione." She blushed slightly, unused to such effusiveness.

Ron however was still not quite on board: "But why would _muggle_ authors hide magic in their books?"

She turned her gaze back to her other best friend, "Because there was no official muggle-born register until the late nineteenth-century. And we know from the East End gang records in the 1920s that there was a long history of local wizards recruiting muggleborns below the radar of the wizarding schools."

Ron nodded slowly, his expression still blank. "Soo…"

Hermione sighed. "So, lots of muggle authors up until the mid-nineteenth century could have actually been wizards. Look at the Bronte sisters, all three of them coming up with these wild stories that hover at the edge of the supernatural, living their strange, secluded lives up on the moors." Hermione felt herself drift for a moment, felt the fizzing excitement of discovery at her fingertips. "What if they _were_ magical? What if there are secrets hiding in their novels just waiting for a wizard to recognise them?"

Ron's eyebrows quirked together, "But that would be like…loads of untapped knowledge."

Hermione smiled, her eyes glittering with anticipation, "Exactly." She looked at Harry again, whose grin looked like it might split his face in two.

"Brilliant" he repeated.

* * *

 

She had enjoyed the first term enormously, drinking in the rich texts, the knowledge of her tutors, the eager intelligence of her fellow students. During the whole Christmas holiday staying with Harry and Ron in what was now very much a joint bachelor pad in Grimmauld Place she had chattered about her studies, completing the required reading in the first ten days, and then spending plenty of time reading everything that she could around the texts. Hermione had forgotten the thrill she had felt when first discovering magical literature, and coming back to muggle English Lit held some of the same delight.

Her good mood had lasted right up until their impromptu New Year's Eve party. A whole host of former DA and Order members had descended on the house, bringing with them laughter and crass jokes, plenty of firewhiskey and spiked butterbeer, and a shouted countdown to midnight. When Big Ben's magically amplified chimes had rung through the flat many among their number had paired off, either for friendly kisses or more amorous ones, and Hermione had found herself on the receiving end of the latter type from Ron. As Dean Thomas produced a boombox from nowhere and started playing Prince (Luna asking wide-eyed, "But how did he know we'd be having a party?") Hermione had pushed Ron away with a laugh – "You know it's not like that anymore" – and wandered back to the kitchen for more firewhiskey.

Harry found her there two minutes later, his hair slightly mussed and a faint stain from Ginny's red lipstick smudged at the edge of his mouth. "It's really over for you, isn't it?" he'd asked, and she hadn't even needed to look at him to know what he was talking about.

Her shoulders drooped and she sighed, "I think it was all so tied up with our whole 'Saving the World' mission," she paused to give Harry a wry look, "If I'm honest, I'm surprised it even lasted as long as it did when we went back to Hogwarts." She'd finished with Ron about halfway through the Spring term of that final year, and had assumed by how well he'd taken it that he felt the same way. It hadn't occurred to her that he might have been waiting for her to come back around.

"Is there somebody else? Someone at Oxford maybe?"

She had looked up at Harry in shock, startled by the question. "N-no, of course not. You know I'd have told you." He nodded sadly, before pouring himself another butterbeer and leaving her alone in the kitchen, only Kreacher's quiet mutterings in the pantry and the distant strains of Prince to keep her company.

After that, the atmosphere at Grimmauld Place hadn't seemed the same. Harry was on edge, obviously feeling caught in the middle, and Ron kept casting her wounded looks. In the end, Hermione ended up packing up her things on the 3rd of January and, against the boys' half-hearted protests, making her way back to Oxford early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - please let me know what you think!


	2. Yet I'll Speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And onto chapter two! Please leave me a review if you like what you've read so far. Again, I don't own Othello, it belongs to Shakespeare. And Harry Potter and everything associated with him belongs to JK Rowling.

The quiet had been perfect to begin with. With only one or two other students staying in halls she had been able to read and make notes uninterrupted all day long, popping out to one of the cosier pubs in the evening to sip mulled cider and watch the locals get drunk alongside elderly Dons who had been there so long they were beginning to become part of the furniture.

She was focussing most of her energies on the essayists of the early eighteenth century, convinced that amidst the wit and humour that characterised the writers of the Spectator and Tatler there would almost certainly be a hint of magic. So far she had come up with nothing concrete, but her instincts were rarely wrong and she had a sense that coffee-shop culture in the 1700s would have been irresistible to a young witch or wizard.

Now, in the second week of January, students were pouring back into the city, bringing laughter and the ringing of bicycle bells with them. Hermione found it easier to concentrate in the library than in halls with all the noise of her fellow students moving back in, and it was as she pottered along one of the little side-streets on the way back to Merton from the Bodleian that she spotted the flyer, and paused. "OPEN AUDITIONS" was emblazoned in hastily added red-felt tip across the top of what was evidently supposed to look like a sixteenth-century playbill. _The Tragedie of Othello, The Moor of Venice_ scrolled across the weathered-looking page in cursive script, under which was written, "The Shakespeare Society Hilary Term Play" and details of auditions to take place in a week's time.

The flyer sent a little thrill through her stomach, and she wondered if she dared. Many of the muggle friends that she had made since arriving in Oxford had mentioned how university was a time to try new things, shake off their former selves. She got the impression that many had been fish out of water at school, and were only now beginning to find their feet. In some ways she felt that way herself. She glanced down at the flyer in her hand. Perhaps, in this brave new world they had created, she could try being a brave new Hermione.

* * *

 

The room in Exeter College where the auditions were being held was as draughty as the corridor outside had been. The play had four directors, all members of the Oxford Shakespeare Society, who had introduced themselves as Pia, Alan, Holly and Ed. They were all finalists, and seemed to be trying to avoid coming across as patronising now that Hermione had revealed that she was a fresher.

Hermione could feel the familiar babble of nerves rising up her throat, threatening to push aside the air of composure that she had been so careful to cultivate over the past few months. It would be fine, she told herself. She'd been practising the speech ever since she had first picked up the flyer, and it wasn't as though she hadn't been familiar with it before that either. She smoothed her hands over her sweater, feeling the reassuring press of her wand against her arm as she let it hang by her side, before taking a deep breath and beginning:

" _O good Iago,_

_What shall I do to win my lord again?_

_Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of heaven,_

_I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel:_

_If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,_

_Either in discourse of thought or actual deed,_

_Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,_

_Delighted them in any other form;_

_Or that I do not yet, and ever did._

_And ever will - though he do shake me off_

_To beggarly divorcement-love him dearly,_

_Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;_

_And his unkindness may defeat my life,_

_But never taint my love. I cannot say 'whore:'_

_It does abhor me now I speak the word;_

_To do the act that might the addition earn_

_Not the world's mass of vanity could make me._ "

Hermione closed her eyes briefly as she finished speaking, absorbing the quiet in the room. She had read the play many times, at least three since coming to Oxford, and had always loved the tragic speech of the woman already condemned by the friend that she begged for help. She had tried to put all of the passion and anguish she had always imagined into it and it only occurred to her now that she might have come off melodramatic.

She opened her eyes and looked at the four students sitting before her. Ed's mouth was half open, his face frozen. The other three were also watching her closely, though their expressions were slightly less nonplussed. Hermione gulped, wondering if it had really been that bad.

Finally Pia, who seemed to be in charge, swallowed and spoke. "Well then. I guess we'll…be in touch." Feeling embarrassment beginning to glow in her cheeks, and cursing herself for being so stupid, Hermione hurried from the room.

* * *

 

When she got the note in her pigeonhole that evening telling her she'd been cast as Desdemona, Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She settled for staring vacantly at the noticeboard for a full five minutes before hurrying off to re-read the play before the first cast read-through that weekend, feeling the first stirrings of pride, excitement and _– oh heavens_ – fear curdling in her belly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny reading this again to repost it - I hope that you're enjoying it? 
> 
> The scene that Hermione reads for her audition is from Othello, Act 4 Scene 2. It's one of my favourites, and features prominently in the film Stage Beauty, which if you haven't seen I would highly recommend. As you can probably already tell, I work in pretty short chapters.


	3. How does my old acquaintance?

She arrived early, as was her wont. Some things might change now that she was officially a university student, but promptness wasn't one of them. Fortunately Pia and Holly were already there, setting out a circle of chairs for the cast members to sit in for the read through. On each one was a script, and a post-it note was stuck to each chairback. Hermione duly walked to the chair labelled 'Desdemona' and was touched to see, when she turned her script over, that the title page was printed with her name and role.

She smiled at Pia, who had taken a seat opposite her, and the older girl smiled back before leaning forward to address Hermione across the circle "We all thought you were great. Reciting that speech, from memory, and with such maturity!" She eyed her thoughtfully, "You must have acted at school right?"

Hermione blushed, "No actually, I…I was homeschooled." Pia's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she didn't say anything further, and Hermione stuck her nose into her script, wondering if she would be able to spot any lines they had omitted. She was vaguely aware of the seats around her filling, but she didn't look up until two people came in together and flopped down in the seats to her left, which she knew were reserved for Othello and Iago. When she did, Hermione felt her eyes go round as saucers, and saw a similar reaction on two very familiar faces.

Hermione opened her mouth in a little 'o' of surprise, but she couldn't really think of a better way to say it than Draco Malfoy's dismayed utterance of "Holy fucking _Granger_."

* * *

 

It was fair to say that it would probably be the most painful drink she'd ever been for, Hermione thought to herself as she peeked over the top of her cider towards Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini's gawping faces. It had seemed like a sensible suggestion after two hours of reading the play though; two hours during which Hermione had been surprised and vaguely perturbed to realise that both Malfoy and Zabini were, well, pretty _good_. When Zabini had cleared his throat as everyone packed up their things around them, and awkwardly said, "Want to get a drink?" she had nodded dumbly, still too astonished by their presence to trust herself with words that weren't Desdemona's. Now that she was there, however, Hermione was thinking that she was going to regret accepting the overture as anything close to friendly.

She sipped gingerly at the tart liquid, then squinched her eyes shut, screwing up her courage. When she sat up Zabini was still eyeing her, but Malfoy was scowling off into the distance. Some things never changed, she guessed. She met Zabini's gaze, and couldn't help herself - "What on earth are you doing here?!"

He opened his mouth, but Malfoy beat him to it. "We're in McGonagall's idea of a _rehabilitation_ programme, Granger" he spat. He flicked his grey eyes over her and Hermione felt her cheeks colour slightly under his dismissive glare. "Apparently she thought it would be a good idea for the brightest students of," he gave a delicate pause, " _questionable_ loyalties to study in muggle establishments in order to encourage them to, and I quote, ' _broaden their horizons_ '"

Hermione was caught off guard by the accuracy with which he imitated McGonagall's Scots brogue, and she mused to herself again that he was actually a pretty good actor. It was only a moment though before her initial astonishment returned. Malfoy and Zabini. _Here_ . In _Oxford_ . And then what he had said sunk in, and she realised for the first time ever what it felt like to be murderously angry with someone you respected. How _dare_ McGonagall send them here! This was supposed to be _her_ place to do _her_ studies, and now she was going to have to share with these two blithering, _Slytherin_ idiots!

She realised that Zabini was now looking at her with distinct wariness, and wondered how much of her distaste had come out on her face. She tried to school her features and sipped at her drink. "Well then…" she paused, not knowing quite what she had been going to say, and then realised that, being where they were, there was a decent formula that the conversation could follow, "Which college are you at?"

Malfoy laughed mirthlessly into his lager but Zabini gave her what appeared to be an encouraging smile, "We're both at Christ Church. You?"

"Merton." There was a pause while she and Zabini half-smiled uncomfortably at one another, then Hermione pressed on, "And what are you studying."

Zabini's face relaxed, and his smile turned more genuine as he answered, "I'm studying Mathematics and this twat," this said with a friendly nudge of Malfoy's shoulder that Hermione noted, with interest, that he didn't seem to mind, "is doing PPE."

Hermione felt her eyebrows rising towards her hair. Both of them were pureblood wizards – this would surely mean a lot of adjustment, and a lot of extracurricular learning. How Zabini had managed to get to grips with a calculator, to begin with... "And how exactly did you end up trying out for the play?!" she burst out, before she could stop herself.

Zabini snorted, and Malfoy redirected his scowl at him, though without the venom it held when directed at Hermione, before Zabini continued, "I wanted to socialise with someone other than the prince of darkness here, and a play seemed like a good excuse, seeing as how we're already playing at muggles." He jostled Malfoy's shoulder again, and he conceded a faint smirk.

Hermione's eyebrows rose higher – Malfoy accepting 'prince of darkness' as a tease? He had come a long way from the fragile, frightened boy that she'd seen during the Battle of Hogwarts. Neither he nor Zabini had been at the school when she'd returned to take her seventh year belatedly, and she realised that she had assumed that they must have graduated and moved on. Then again their seventh year, at the height of Voldemort's power before his defeat, couldn't have been the best in terms of education. She found herself curious as to what would motivate them to go along with McGonagall's plan. "You truly want to learn more about muggle society?" she found herself asking.

Zabini snickered into his pint, and it was for Malfoy to answer her, "What's so hard to believe, Granger? If King Potter of the muggle-lovers could put Voldemort in the ground then there must be something in it." Hermione frowned, wanting to come up with a smart retort but actually she couldn't really think of anything wrong with Malfoy's argument. The scorn hadn't really been directed at muggles but rather at Harry, and the two of them had never got along so that was hardly surprising. What surprised her most, in fact, was Malfoy's casual use of Voldemort's name. She had only ever heard him referred to as 'The Dark Lord' by Death Eaters.

She ran her eyes across Malfoy again, noting as she did that he really was different to what she remembered. He had filled out a little to match his height and his skin, always so pale, had taken on a faint golden hue, as though he had started sitting out in the sun more. It made the silver-blonde of his hair all the more striking, and it was longer and messier than she recalled ever seeing it at school. There was a faint glimmer of pale stubble across his jaw too, blurring the sharp angle of his chin into something more manly and… Hermione reined in her train of thought firmly, blushing down into her cider again. Malfoy frowned as she did so but he didn't seem to realise the reason for her embarrassment. Zabini, on the other hand, raised a single eyebrow at her then smirked into his own pint.

He too was different, filled out just as Malfoy had, and his dark skin gleamed healthily, emphasising the gold-green of his eyes as they twinkled at her. Hermione blinked in surprise, then decided that no, she hadn't been mistaken: Blaise Zabini was definitely looking at her with what she would describe as _conspiratorial_ amusement.

"So," he said, having replaced his drink on the table. "What are you studying then?"

Hermione nearly sighed with relief to find herself back on comfortable territory. "English Literature. I want to research whether there are magical secrets hidden in old texts by unregistered muggle-born wizards. Lots of poems and plays and novels make reference to magic, and it occurred to me that it can't all be allegory, some of it must come from-"

"Actual magical knowledge." Malfoy's interruption was a murmur, his eyes fixed upon her and glowing with interest. Hermione held his gaze for an astonished moment, before his habitual bored expression fell across his features once more and he turned away from her slightly. "Not bad, Granger. It seems you do come up with an original idea every once in a while. But what on earth possessed you to audition for _Othello_?"

Hermione bristled, "I didn't audition for Othello, I auditioned for Desdemona, which is why Zabini and I are _both_ in the play." Malfoy rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond but she felt her temper flare and spoke before he could: "I don't even know why I'm surprised that you'd want to play Iago; he's a traitorous, manipulative jerk, just like you." His eyes snapped back to her, anger sparking in their pale depths, but Hermione didn't give him a chance to interrupt before turning back to Zabini, "I don't know why you keep hanging out with the _prince of darkness_ " she spat, "If I were you I'd have ditched him the first chance I got." Zabini's eyebrows moved together and he seemed about to respond, but Hermione was already gathering up her things and marching out, leaving the two young men and her half-drunk cider in the pub.

* * *

 

"You know," Blaise said, frowning slightly into his now-empty glass, "That really didn't go as badly as it could have."

There was a beat of silence while Draco stared at him as though he'd gone mad, then, seeing the twitch at the edge of his friend's mouth, he lifted his own glass and drained it. "Fuck you, Zabini."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like how it's going - please do leave me a review! The chapter titles are all little quotes from the play (but I'm sure you got that already).


	4. Men should be what they seem

Hermione crashed back into her room and flung her bag onto her bed. She stood in the middle of the room for a moment, taking deep gulps of breath in the warm half-dark, feeling the sting of humiliation on her cheeks. How could she for one moment have even imagined that he might actually have changed? It was _Malfoy_ , for Merlin's sake. A leopard could change its spots and go waltzing down Pall Mall with a thestral before he would actually become a nice person.

She inhaled deeply, feeling calmer now that she was back in her own space. It was a shame, really, she thought to herself, that it wasn't just Zabini. He seemed to have actually become halfway decent in the eighteen months since she had seen him last. But Malfoy…what on earth had McGonagall been thinking, helping him come to Oxford? Stirred back into a fury of indignation she wrenched her desk drawer open and ripped out a piece of parchment. Casting about for a quill she growled with frustration at the proliferation of ballpoint pens, before drawing her wand out and practically shrieking, " _Accio_ quill!"

The tawny pheasant feather that she favoured came zooming out from under a stack of notes so quickly that it jabbed her in the cheek before she could catch it, and Hermione had to bite back a howl of annoyance. She took another deep, shuddering breath. This was unreasonable. She couldn't write to McGonagall when she was in such a state. Her own fit of temper seemed suddenly frightening; she couldn't remember ever being so angry.

No, that was a lie. She could remember, and it had ended with her fist smashing Malfoy's eye socket. It was utterly infuriating to think that after all this time he could still drive her to such an extreme.

She needed to be calm, collected. She needed to be Hermione Granger. She sank into her desk chair, which had been charmed to be much more comfortable than it appeared, and turned the lamps on with a flick of her wand. Smoothing the parchment onto the desktop, she took a moment to consider what exactly she was going to say to her former professor. Much though she might try to keep the tone of the letter reasonable, she suspected McGonagall would see right through anything she said. Still, anything was preferable to mashing her knuckles into Malfoy's face again. They weren't fourteen anymore.

* * *

 

Their next rehearsal was not until Wednesday, which gave Hermione three days to cool her temper. Unfortunately it seemed now that she was aware that Malfoy and Zabini were in Oxford she had become somehow finely attuned to their presence. She saw them everywhere: laughing loudly outside the Radcliffe Camera, sipping coffees on Gloucester Green, riding bicycles along St Giles with the careless abandon of those who were used to steering brooms.

She had thought at first that the odd jolt that she felt upon seeing them was annoyance; after all how _dare_ they intrude upon her life here. Quickly though she realized that it was not annoyance at all, but something closer to jealousy. Seeing them enjoying themselves, always together, made her miss Harry and Ron with a dreadful urgency, beyond anything that she had felt in the previous months that she had been up at Oxford.

* * *

 

When Wednesday rolled around, therefore, with still no reply from McGonagall to her (admittedly slightly snitty) owl, she stacked her books neatly at her desk in the library and made her way down the street to Exeter for rehearsal, full of the resolve to be friendly. After all, she had come to realise that, much as she liked all of her new muggle friends, it would be nice to be able to share her experiences of Oxford with some fellow wizards, slim though the pickings might be.

She took stock as she entered the room, waving to Pia where she and Ed were setting out chairs in a rough semi-circle in front of what was clearly supposed to be a stage area. About half the cast were already there, chatting in small groups or reading their scripts. Zabini caught her eye from where he was perched by one of the windows with his script on his knee, and gave her a small smile. Hermione took a deep breath and smiled back, making her way towards him. Before she could get there however, someone stepped into her path. A small, dark-haired someone whose face seemed to be taken up almost entirely by huge green eyes and dimples.

"You're Hermione, right?" said the green-eyed person, who on closer inspection resolved herself into the girl that Hermione knew to be playing Emilia. They hadn't spoken properly at the read through, but she thought that her name was – "I'm Caroline, playing Emilia, you know? GOD isn't it brilliant?! I'm so excited!" Hermione could feel her eyebrows rising against her will in the face of so much enthusiasm, but smiled and nodded as Caroline continued to chat effusively about the production, the reputation of the Shakespeare Society, and then "…those two, Draco and Blaise I mean, _how_ exotic, right? You know they're both at the House? And they're too yummy – when I first got to the read-through I was like, ohhh so it's a looks thing, but they're actually really good, who'd have thought?!" Caroline paused for breath and cast a look over her shoulder to where Malfoy had joined Zabini by the window.

Hermione took the opportunity to speak while she was distracted, "Yeah, I knew them before actually, although we've never got on that well."

Caroline turned back to her, eyes lighting up with interest,"You know them? But I thought that you were homeschooled?"

Hermione fought the instinct to blush and stutter, and opted for a shrug instead, "Yes, but I sat my exams at their school." This at least, knowing McGonagall, would probably hold true according to their false records. Even if it didn't it was only a matter of catching the Slytherin pair up on the lie…

Caroline was nodding at her, "That makes sense I suppose. But you weren't friends?"

Hermione shrugged again, wondered how that had happened twice in one conversation; "Just too different, I guess." She flicked her eyes back to the boys, to see that Malfoy was watching her. Their eyes met, and he held her gaze for a moment, expression unreadable, before turning to reply to something Zabini had said.

Before Hermione could think too much of it Holly and Alan bustled into the room, quickly helping the other directors with the last of the chairs before Alan climbed up onto one. "Have a seat everyone!" he yelled over the buzz of chatter, and the assembled cast members duly filled the chairs.

Holly smiled at them all, "So, we thought that Sunday's read through was really great."

Ed nodded enthusiastically beside her, "We're really pleased with how all of you were sounding – and special mention to Blaise, no one would think our Othello had never acted before!" He directed a brilliant smile Zabini's way, and Hermione was shocked to see him grin back, casting his eyes down bashfully. Beside him Malfoy snickered quietly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

Holly rolled her eyes, and continued, "Today we want to run a few principal scenes, make sure that everybody gets to speak, but mostly we want you all to get a feel for each other." Someone coughed and a few nervous giggles ran round the room. Holly blushed, "You know what I mean, guys. Get a feel for each other's style."

Caroline leaned over to whisper in Hermione's ear, "I think Ed wants to get a feel for Blaise's _style_ ," and Hermione gave a quick, unintentional snort of laughter. A few other cast members turned to look at her, smiles lighting their faces. The brown-haired boy playing Cassio even winked. Hermione smiled back at him, ignoring the stare she could feel Malfoy directing at her.

Pia clapped her hands to regain their attention, valiantly stepping in for the clearly embarrassed Holly. "Okay, okay. Let's get on with it." She glanced at her notes, "Act one, scene three, from 'Valiant Othello,' so we need Simon, Mike, Blaise…"

As Pia rattled off names for Senators and attendants Hermione quickly scanned through the scene. She'd be entering in about five minutes time, just after Zabini's second long speech. Caroline gave her a smile and mouthed "good luck!" as Hermione rose to stand at the edge of the stage area, ready to be 'fetched' by Malfoy as Iago.

She followed the speech with her fingers on the page, listening to Zabini's beautiful, deep voice:–

"…She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,

And I loved her that she did pity them.

This only is the witchcraft I have used:

Here comes the lady; let her witness it."

Malfoy's touch on her arm was light but Hermione jerked in surprise. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, before guiding her into the centre of the stage by her elbow. As Simon, playing the Duke, started questioning Dominic (whose chubby frame and pompous manner made him a perfect Brabantio) Malfoy dropped his hand from Hermione's arm, but she could feel it there still. She didn't think that they had touched since she had hit him in their third year and she hadn't been prepared for the gentle warmth of his fingers. She snapped back to the play, nodding her head to Simon, turning to Dominic, "My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty…"

* * *

 

The rehearsal lasted nearly three hours, and it was getting on for 9pm by the time the directors let them go. The four older students had been exacting, critical, but nevertheless encouraging, and Hermione felt a sense of exhilaration. With a full schedule of rehearsals and an agreement with Caroline and Simon to go for dinner at an Indian restaurant near the History Faculty on Friday, she turned back to pack her script into her bag, but jerked upright when a pair of suede-clad toes moved into the edge of her vision.

She had felt Malfoy's gaze on her a number of times through the course of the rehearsal but had managed to dismiss it. Now though, with most of the cast members already filing out of the room, she was unable to avoid him, so she drew herself up and met his eye. He was taller than Harry, she realized, possibly as tall as Ron, but he made Hermione feel small in a way her two best friends never had. She gazed coolly at him, still for all her good intentions not having quite forgiven his dismissal on Sunday. "Something you want?"

Malfoy's mouth twisted into a small grimace and he looked down, shuffling his feet and then casting a glance off to the side. Following his gaze, Hermione saw Zabini waiting with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Looking back at Malfoy she was shocked to see her own uncertainty mirrored on his face. "Look, Granger, I wanted…well I wanted to say…to apologise." Hermione couldn't hide her surprise, and he grimaced again before continuing, "I think I might have been a bit of a dick."

The look he gave her then, like a small boy uncertain of whether he was going to be punished, was so endearingly innocent, so utterly unlike the Malfoy she remembered, that she couldn't help but laugh. "Are you apologizing for everything you've ever done?"

For a moment his features registered shock, and then the corner of his mouth quirked up into what might have been a smile. When their eyes met again Hermione could have sworn there was a spark of warmth in the cloudy grey. "Yeah, well, at least let me try buying you a drink again. I'm sure I owe you at least the one more."

Hermione hefted her bag and chuckled, "You mean at least one _hundred_ more, surely?"

His smile widened, the warmth in his eyes like a challenge, and she felt herself blushing. Fortunately Zabini came bounding over at that moment and rescued her, "So have you two decided to play nice yet? Because otherwise we're never going to be able to have a decent conversation with the brightest witch of our age."

Draco's eyes widened, "Blaise, will you keep your voice down?" Hermione glanced round but the only people left in the room were Ed and Holly, who seemed to be deep in conversation. Even if Ed's eyes _were_ straying back to Zabini every now and then. She gave the two of them a cheery wave as she exited with the Slytherin boys, finding herself being persuaded by the irrepressible Zabini to accompany the pair back to Christ Church by the promise of some Firewhisky that they had stockpiled in their set.


	5. Their breaths embraced together

****McGonagall's reply had reached her at last, reminding Hermione in a gently reproachful tone that refusing to change opinions of others was what had got the whole wizarding world into a mess in the first place. "Be kind, and as patient as I know that you can be. They have proven themselves to me over the last year and I would have you give them the chance to do the same with you." Hermione had folded the creamy parchment carefully, mulling Minerva's words. It was true that both boys seemed to be trying and she would be lying if she said it had been entirely unpleasant to sip Firewhisky and compare experiences of Oxford with them. They had skirted the subject of school, and the bad memories of the last couple of years, but she knew that McGonagall was right: if they were willing to set aside their pride to come here and be among muggles, the least that she could do was try not to judge them too quickly.

* * *

 

For all that she had resolved to be friendly, Hermione and Malfoy remained wary of one another; years of bad blood proving too hard to set aside immediately. Blaise's easy, confident presence however was hard to resist, and since they were something of a package deal it therefore wasn't hard for Hermione to fall into a pattern of seeing the pair of them fairly frequently, what with all the rehearsals they were having to do, as well as meeting up to run lines in-between. Add to that the fact that the Slytherin boys' set at the House was large and comfortably luxurious, and Hermione was soon there nearly every day, along with various other members of the cast.

* * *

 

Caroline's chattery, nervous over-enthusiasm had quickly given way to a sweet and eager warmth tempered by a dirty sense of humour, and Hermione was surprised to realise how happy she was to spend time with the other girl after only a short acquaintance. A week after their hilarious (and eventually quite raucous) evening out with Simon, Mike and a few others from the play, Hermione was waiting on the corner of St Aldates for Caroline before the two of them headed down to rehearse Desdemona's murder with Blaise. It was bitter, the air so cold that the ice crystals in it seemed to refract the glow of the streetlamps in the early evening. Hermione cast a surreptitious warming charm, then jumped guiltily as Caroline's voice carried across the street, "Hermione!"

The small girl glanced across the traffic, then jogged across to Hermione's side. Her cheeks were pink with cold, and her heavy breaths smoked on the chilly air. "I'm so sorry! My supervision changed to five, so I can't come and rehearse. You guys will be okay without me right?"

Hermione smiled to hide her disappointment; she had been looking forward to finally running the whole scene with both Blaise and Caroline. She shook her head though,

"I'm sure it won't be a problem. We can always ask Malfoy to stand in for you."

Caroline giggled, "I bet he'd love that." She smoothed her face into a ridiculous parody of Malfoy's habitual expression of bored disdain, "'O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical.'" Hermione cackled and Caroline joined in, before frowning, "You never call him Draco, do you?"

Hermione shook her head again, "Like I said, we weren't friends before. I guess I'm just too used to calling him Malfoy."

Caroline shrugged, "That makes sense. Oh well." She glanced down at her watch and gasped "Shit! I'm going to be late!" She flung herself back into the street, nearly getting run down by a passing cyclist, and waved at Hermione as she called back over her shoulder, "See you tomorrow!" Hermione smiled to herself; Caroline was absolutely irrepressible. Alone again, she touched her fingers to the wand in her pocket and re-cast the warming charm before starting down the street towards Christ Church.

The porters were already getting to know her, and Leonard greeted her with a wave from behind his newspaper as she slipped past. She knew that the paper was a front – he was watching everyone who came through with eagle-eyed sharpness. As she skirted the edge of the quad she hummed to herself, mentally blocking the death scene. She and Blaise had discussed it with the directors at the last group rehearsal, agreeing that it should be savage and shocking: every word, look and touch a perversion of the earlier loving glances and caresses that were supposed to pass between Othello and Desdemona.

She climbed the dimly lit staircase and knocked on the heavy door to the boys' set. She was still sceptical as to how they had ended up with such a nice room, usually reserved for final-year students; she suspected a judiciously placed Confundus charm on the accommodation manager. She was just considering the view of the warmly-lit quad from the landing window when the door was wrenched open and she turned to meet Malfoy's surprised gaze. "Granger. What are you doing here?"

Hermione swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Erm. Blaise, Caro and I were supposed to rehearse Desdemona's death scene? Only Caroline can't come, so I guess it's just me."

Malfoy frowned at her, "Blaise isn't here," he said, "Ed asked him to go and work on his final speech." He paused to give her a smirk, "Privately. He didn't tell you?"

Hermione bit back her frustration, "No, he didn't." She sighed, "I guess I'll head back to Merton."

She turned to go but stopped as Malfoy grabbed her by the arm; turning back in surprise, she met his considering gaze, "I could run the scene with you, if you like?" He smiled slightly, "I actually do quite a decent impersonation of Blaise."

Hermione shrugged, hoping her nerves didn't show, "I guess that would be fine."

* * *

 

They'd started out just reading the parts to one other, beginning with Desdemona stirring from her sleep ("Who's there? Othello?") and then firing the lines back and forth, gaining momentum and pace until Malfoy spat "It is _too late_."

Hermione smiled at him, eyes bright, "What did you think?"

He shrugged, but she saw his lips lift at the corners before he looked back down to his script, "I think you're sounding good. Want to try it off-book?"

She nodded, "Can you go from the beginning? Blaise is going to be sort of pacing around the room and I want to get used to having to pretend to sleep through the soliloquy."

Malfoy nodded, eyes scanning down the page. She saw him pause, and one of his eyebrows quirked before looking at her, "You want me to act it out as though I were Blaise right?"

Hermione nodded again, "If you don't mind? I'm going to 'sleep' on the sofa."

She turned away and lay down on her back, one arm hanging over the edge, trying to look as though she were actually asleep. There was a pause, and she peeked through one eye to see Malfoy still reading, lips pursed. Hermione cleared her throat and he jumped: "Maybe start before I actually go to sleep?"

Malfoy frowned and put his script down on the coffee table. "It is the cause, it is the cause my soul…"

Hermione listened to him with her eyes closed, realizing with a shock that his voice was nearly as lovely as Blaise's. He was obviously moving around the sofa as he spoke, the same way that Blaise would prowl about the bed when they performed it, but Malfoy's footsteps were silent, her only clue as to his whereabouts the sound of his words "…It must needs wither: I'll smell it on the tree."

As he said the line Hermione remembered the next stage direction – _he kisses her_ – and, stomach lurching, her eyes flew open, only realising that Malfoy had leant over her as he skimmed his lips across hers.

There was a pause as they stared at one another, faces so close that Hermione could feel Malfoy's breath on her mouth. And then, the bastard, he winked at her, before continuing, his words quiet, his lips still almost touching hers: "Ah balmy breath, that dost almost persuade Justice to break her sword. One more, one more…" and Hermione closed her eyes just as he pressed his mouth to hers, a little firmer this time - "Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, And love thee after. One more, and this the last:" Again, that gentle pressure…but then he was gone, and she had to school her features into something resembling sleep again, until "…this sorrow's heavenly, it strikes where it doth love. She wakes."

Hermione fluttered her eyes, "Who's there, Othello?"

Malfoy was looking away; his voice when it came was a low, troubled rumble, "Ay, Desdemona."

Sitting up, Hermione cocked her head, affecting her most coquettish tone, "Will you come to bed my lord?"

Malfoy spun on his heel, and for a moment his unguarded expression as he looked at her threw her off balance. His pale grey eyes were dark with uncertainty, fear, and something else, something she wasn't sure that she wanted to put a name to - and suddenly Hermione was conscious that her lips were tingling from his kiss, and she felt herself blush as he spoke, "Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona?"

Deciding that the quaver in her voice would probably work for the scene, Hermione answered him and they continued to trade lines, working up the same intensity as before, only this time Malfoy was prowling about her with murderous intent and Hermione found herself only half-acting as she scrambled away from him, trying to place the sofa between them ("Alas! He is betray'd and I undone!") and then Malfoy caught her about the waist and threw her onto the sofa, gripping her wrists in one strong hand, his knee across her hips as his other hand circled her throat while she screamed, "But while I say one prayer!"

And then, that final, leaden line, "It is _too late_."

They stayed there a moment, breathing hard, faces close together. His fingers were a light pressure on her neck and Hermione swallowed against them, knowing that he must be able to feel her hammering pulse. Malfoy's eyes were like stormclouds, his mouth hovering above hers. Instinctively, not pausing to think about it, Hermione closed her eyes and let her mouth fall slightly open and then, gentle as a whisper, his lips were back against hers, warm and so soft, and she wanted to reach her fingers into his hair and see if that was soft too except that he still had her hands pinned, and - _oh Merlin_ \- this was Malfoy, who she hated! Hermione felt herself start to panic, heart racing again, but then there came the sound of Blaise's key in the lock and Malfoy sprang away from her, eyes wide and staring as she knew hers must be.

Hermione felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she sat up quickly and drew the back of her hand across her mouth. When she looked back at Malfoy he had his fingers against his lips but he dropped his hand at the look on her face, just as Blaise came bounding into the room. "Hermione Granger, fancy seeing you here!"

Hermione smiled vaguely at him, standing from the sofa on legs that felt like jelly. "Yeah. You weren't here so Draco helped me run the death scene."

Blaise looked quickly between the two of them, eyes slightly narrowed; then his customary grin returned, "Trying to steal my part _and_ my woman now are we, Draco?"

Malfoy half-sneered, then seemed to stop himself, casting an uncertain glance at Hermione. She resolutely refused to meet his eye so only heard him mutter, "Something like…whatever."

Blushing furiously, Hermione snatched her bag from beside the sofa, "It's pretty late, I really need to go." Which said, she rushed from the room, barely pausing to let Blaise jump out of her way.

There was a beat of silence after the door slammed behind her and Blaise looked at Malfoy quizzically: "What in Merlin's name did you do to her?"

Malfoy folded his arms, the tops of his cheeks turning pink in the soft lamplight, "Nothing!" Blaise raised an eyebrow and Malfoy flushed deeper. "What? I didn't do anything!" Blaise grinned at him, "Mate. She called you _Draco_."

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't think of anything to say. He dropped his arms and ran a hand through his hair. " _Fuck_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's your lot for today! I'll be posting a chapter a day from now on - or you can find the whole thing on FFN, but where's the fun in that?
> 
> The scene Hermione and Draco rehearse is the first part of Act 5 Scene 2, which is the last scene of the play and basically where shit goes down... I hope you liked this chapter, this was one of my early favourites!
> 
> PS: FFN reviewer Honoria Granger was kind enough to point out that Christ Church, Oxford is familiarly known as 'The House' to Oxonians, so from here on I refer to it both ways.


	6. For the dangers I had pass'd

"You're avoiding me."

Hermione jumped, not having noticed Malfoy sliding into the seat next to her. It was mid-afternoon on Tuesday and a bar of sunlight sliced across the table in Duke Humfrey's Library.

She tried not to look guilty as she lifted her eyes from the volume of poetry that she had been perusing. "I don't know what would give you that impression, I've just been busy." She gestured at the pile of books in front of her, "You know, _studying_." Malfoy's face was unreadable, and Hermione was uncomfortably aware that his hand rested on the back of her chair, only a couple of inches from her shoulder, fencing her in.

"Let's consider the evidence here, Granger." Malfoy was speaking in his customary drawl, but his fingers worried at the chairback, and he stared at them as though fascinated. "One," He lifted his other hand and tapped a finger on the desktop; "You're hiding out in Duke Humfrey's, when you'd normally be in the Radcliffe. Two," A second finger-tap, "You demanded Blaise meet you in Merton when you ran lines on Saturday. Three, you hid behind Simon, Tessa and Caroline for all of yesterday's rehearsal. Four," he flicked his eyes up to hold her gaze, a note of triumph in his voice, "Caroline told me you were avoiding me, and asked me what the bloody hell I'd done."

Hermione scowled down at his hand on the desk, "I'm going to kill her. Talk about friends like -"

"You're dodging the issue, Granger."

She huffed a sigh, "My name is _Hermi-_ "

"I know what your name is. _My_ name is Draco, and _you_ 're avoiding me."

Hermione finally met his eye, feeling the blood rushing to her face, "Well, you _kissed_ me."

Malfoy nodded slightly, as though expecting her to go on. When she didn't he frowned, "I have to admit, I was under the impression that you _wanted_ me to kiss you."

Hermione would not have thought it possible to blush more than she had been, but apparently she was, for once, wrong. "I – you – I mean-" She spluttered, vaguely hoping that he might jump in, but he seemed content to allow her to flail. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "Maybe in the heat of the moment I did want…something…but you're Malfoy. It's…ridiculous."

She dared to look at his face and wished almost immediately that she hadn't. She suspected that most people wouldn't realise the blank expression was actually one of fury, but she recognised the look from Lucius Malfoy's face in the Department of Mysteries, and shivered. Malfoy's eyes were almost as dark and cold as his father's as he looked at her, "So that's how it is? I'm weighed and measured by my past?"

Hermione cringed at the coolness of his tone, "I didn't mean-"

"But you _did,_ Granger, that's exactly what you meant. Did it ever occur to you how hard it might have been for me to swallow not only my own pride but that of my family? To admit to being wrong? To agree to come here and learn _among muggles_ when I've spent my whole life being told how inferior they are?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder as his voice rose, so didn't see him remove his wand from his pocket. She heard him mutter " _Muffliato_ " though, and felt the rush of air as his spell shot past her ear. She turned back, wide-eyed, as he flicked his wand again, " _Peregrinus repello_."

"What are you doing?!"

"Keeping this conversation private." He slipped his wand back into his pocket. "You haven't answered me. Do you have any concept of what it means for me to be here?"

Hermione swallowed, the righteous indignation in his voice provoking defensive anger, "Well did you have _any concept_ of what it might have been like for me to be called _Mudblood_ all the time, _Draco_?"

His eyes flashed, "Not at the time, no. Because, _as I said_ , that's what I'd always been taught that muggle-borns were. Just as you seem to have been taught that Malfoys are always _evil_."

Hermione snorted, "You never exactly did much to disabuse me of that notion."

"Because you were infuriating!" Draco's fist was clenched on the desk, knuckles turning white, "Getting the top marks in every subject, making me challenge everything I'd ever believed about blood purity by being the best the whole time, always so bloody perfect!" He paused, and blew out a breath, "Merlin's beard, having to put up with the three of you - always fucking golden-boy Potter with faithful Weasley and brilliant, beautiful _, muggle-born_ Granger. Just looking at you was a headfuck, never mind having to listen to you give every right answer in class!"

He stopped, inhaling deeply through white nostrils, seeming for a moment to struggle for control. Hermione stared at him, "What did you call me?"

Draco lifted his head and looked at her, confused, "What?"

She blushed, more gently this time, "You called me… um…"

He smiled, shaking his head disbelievingly as warmth bled back into his gaze, "That's what you've taken away from that?" He sighed and uncurled his fist, "I called you beautiful, Hermione. Because much though it may have pained me to admit it while we were at school you…well…" He shrugged, coughed awkwardly and looked down at his hand, now pressed flat on the desk, then flicked his eyes upwards to meet hers, "You are."

Hermione felt warm and cold all at once. Her mouth was dry and her stomach filled suddenly with butterflies as she simply stared at him, haloed in gold from the afternoon sunlight, pale eyes uncertain but unwavering on hers. She was conscious that their faces were once more close together, that they were leaning towards one another, dust motes swirling lazily in the air around them. She licked her lips, saw his gaze move and opened her mouth slightly to speak, only she didn't get a chance before Draco kissed her, crashing his lips into hers with a fury that made her gasp with surprise. All that did was open her mouth further and he pressed forward, tongue invading and slipping over hers, the taste of him like mint and rosemary, and Hermione forgot to protest as instinct took over. Her hands lifted tentatively against his chest, and then Draco's arm moved from the chairback and around her waist, drawing her towards him so that she was sat at the very edge of her seat, his knee a gentle pressure between her legs.

Hermione moaned and twined her arms around his shoulders, hand lifting to run her fingers through his messy hair. It was as soft as she had imagined, because she couldn't pretend that she hadn't imagined this obsessively all weekend, barely able to concentrate on reading Tennyson, the memory of Draco's lips on hers constantly disrupting her thoughts. The memory was nothing to the reality of it however, the exquisite pain as he twined his fingers in the bottom of her curls and _pulled_. Hermione moaned again and pressed her mouth back against his, deepening the kiss, the taste and smell of him everywhere around her, just perfectly, simply Malfoy.

Simply Draco.

All at once overwhelmed, Hermione pulled back, pushing Draco from her and lifting her shaking hands to press against her burning face. "I can't… I can't do this right now," She gestured vaguely at her desk, at the stack of books and notes, "I've got essays, and a supervision, and we have rehearsals tomorrow, and I just…just can't. I'm sorry, Draco."

There was a pause as he eyeballed the floor, but then Draco lifted his chin, standing from the chair in a smooth movement. His gaze was cool, belying his high colour, but Hermione could sense the hurt radiating from him. "I guess I'll leave you alone then, _Hermione_ , since that's clearly what you want."

He slid past her without another word, and Hermione was about to call after him when she heard the _crack_ of disapparition and felt the fizz of his spells lifting from the air around her. The normal background noise of the library – shuffling paper, muffled whispers – returned, making her all the more aware of how very alone she was.

* * *

 

There was no rehearsal that evening so Hermione stayed late at the library, feverishly annotating her copy of Tennyson's selected poems and trying desperately not to allow herself to think about what the hell was going on between her and Draco Malfoy. Her mouth felt bruised, the nape of her neck still sensitive from whoere he had tugged at her hair and – _stop_. She blew out a breath, flattening her hands on the desk. Her shoulders were high and tense, and she rolled them gently, moving her neck to allow it to click.

The sound was loud in the stillness of the library, and glancing at her watch Hermione was surprised to see it was nearly ten o'clock. She had taken a cue from Draco and cast a muggle-repelling charm over her section, meaning the librarians had simply passed her by as they swept through to remove readers at closing time. It was cold, she realized, and beyond the golden circle of lamplight that surrounded her the darkness pressed close.

Hermione swallowed, not knowing where the prickle of fear on her spine had come from. She had stayed and read late in the libraries before; there should be nothing to be scared of. In fact, she reasoned, it was the perfect opportunity to go snooping through some of the rare books in the reading room without being watched by the librarians. This sort of after-hours activity had already led her to discover a few lost spells, squirrelled away among the millions of volumes that comprised the collection. Rising from her seat and ignoring the stirrings of unease in her belly, she murmured " _Lumos_ ", holding her wand high and looking about her.

She had long trusted her nose for magic, and so Hermione wandered seemingly randomly through the long shelves, eventually climbing to the upper gallery to peruse the books ranged beneath the shadowed ceiling. She could sense a prickle of magic somewhere near the end of the row and so she closed her eyes and ran her hand along the spines, stopping when her fingers closed almost automatically around a small volume. Opening her eyes and bringing her wand close she scanned the dark leather, the title picked out in faded, flaked golden letters: _The Necronomicon, OR the Book of Dead Names_. Hermione felt a shiver run up her spine, sensing the powerful magic of the book as it chilled her fingers to the bone.

Her instincts screaming at her, Hermione tried to replace the book on the shelf, but her fingers were numb, crabbed into a claw-like grip by the cold that emanated from the small volume. She stifled a gasp of fear and shook her wrist violently to throw the book from her grip. It flew from her fingers and landed on the floor a few feet away, falling open with a thud far too heavy for such a small item. Hermione didn't have time to ponder that however, for as soon as the book flew open a vicious chill had flooded over her and she watched in horror as a dark shape, seemingly built of writhing shadow, unfurled itself from the pages.

Hermione's cool, analytical side told her that the Dementors had been destroyed after Voldemort's fall. But her frozen skin, clammy palms and the wave of pure fear that engulfed her told her that everyone had been wrong – that they had missed something – because this was a Dementor, a wound in the world, an aching darkness yawning open before her and sucking everything good from the air. Hermione opened her mouth to scream but all that came out was a whimper. She raised her wand and made the swirling motion she had come to know so well: " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

A feeble thread of silver was all that rewarded her efforts, and she whimpered again, louder this time. She cast the charm once more, closing her eyes and thinking desperately, wildly, of Draco's lips on hers, the pure exhilaration of his kiss. She felt the magic rush through her, strong and warm and reassuring, and she thought for a moment that the charm had worked but when she opened her eyes, though her wand-tip was glowing, there was no bouncing silver otter and the Dementor was advancing on her. Hermione's scream broke free of her then, and she backed up so that she was pressed against the balcony edge, trapped between the drop and the creature that was lazily encroaching upon her.

It reached forward one of its dead, scabbed hands, the grey flesh gleaming wetly in the light of her wand, and Hermione cringed backwards, cursing her own stupidity for getting herself killed like this; but then a voice cut through the dreadful silence of the library – " _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ There was a burst of silver light and Hermione felt a rush like a buffeting wind, lifting her hair and the edge of her t-shirt, pushing her back against the balcony rail so that she had to cling fast to it to stop from toppling over. When she opened her eyes the Dark creature was gone, the little book lay closed upon the floor, and a glowing form stood before her. Too traumatised to consider what she was doing, Hermione reached her hand forward as though to caress the ears of the silvery fox, but with a bound it was gone, leaping back into Draco's wand, still out and pointing at her as its owner stood, white-faced and panting, eyes wide and staring.

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to step towards him, but instead found herself pitching forward, legs too shaky to take her weight. Draco caught her before she hit the floor, arms gentle as he pulled her against him, stroking her back and whispering calming nonsense as he pressed his lips to her hair. Hermione felt tears of relief start from her eyes as she pressed into his warmth, fisting her hands in his jumper. They stayed like that for a long time, until both of their breathing had steadied and their grip upon one another had relaxed slightly. Draco drew back from her, smoothing a hand over her hair, "Are you alright?" Hermione nodded dumbly, staring into his moon-pale eyes as they studied her face. Draco's mouth was slightly open, "Perdition catch my soul," he whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

When he kissed her this time it was a gentle thing, warm with relief, sweet and close-mouthed. Hermione felt herself relax all the way against him, drawing in the pure comfort of his presence, grateful that he had managed to find her. But then - "How did you know to come?"

Draco frowned down at her, "You sent your patronus. It just appeared in the middle of the set – and I put my hand out to it and could feel," his face twisted in thought, "It was like I could feel your fear, and I just _knew_ where you were so I apparated straight here and you're facing down a bloody dementor, which, what in the name of Merlin were you thinking, opening a book like _that_ …"

"I didn't mean to!" Hermione's squawk of protest sounded shrill to her ears. "I didn't realise it was _dark_ magic until I'd already lifted it off the shelf." She shuddered, "Who would hide a _dementor_ in a book?" Draco shook his head, seemingly lost for words, and in his silence something else occurred to Hermione, causing her to rock back on her heels in shock, "You cast a Patronus charm!"

Draco's brows dropped and the edge of his mouth turned down, "I did cast a Patronus charm. And you're surprised because…?" He paused and Hermione flushed with shame. Draco's lip curled in a mockery of a smile, "Right, of course, because you were still slightly convinced that I was a fucking _dark_ wizard. Well," he dropped his arms from around her and stood, dusting off the knees of his jeans, " _Sorry_ to be such a disappointment, but some of us have managed to change since we left school." He looked down at Hermione, still kneeling on the floor, and his expression softened slightly. "Do you need any help to get home?"

She shook her head, reaching out to the banister to pull herself to standing. "I'll be fine." She summoned her bag and notes quickly from the desk below, trying to hold back tears of humiliation. Feeling her eyes near to overflowing, she cast one last look at Draco, still stood watching her in the dim light. Hermione drew a breath, felt a tear fall. "I'm sorry," she whispered. He opened his mouth, but there was a loud _crack_ and she had already disapparated, leaving him alone in the empty library.

Draco stood for a long moment, watching the space where she had disappeared. He lifted his hands to his mouth, feeling the ghost of her on his lips. "Perdition catch my soul," he repeated, barely louder than a breath, "But I do love thee." Shaking his head, he bent and, pulling his sleeve down to cover his hand, lifted the book from the floor. He hoped Professor McGonagall wouldn't mind a late-night visit, because he could think of nobody else he trusted with the disposal of such a vile object. With a last glance about him, Draco disapparated, leaving the library cold and still and silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This remains one of my favourite chapters, ha!
> 
> The Necronomicon is from an H.P. Lovecraft story, but the 'translation' of the book was attributed by Lovecraft to Dr Dee, Elizabeth I's magician, who I feel is probably a prime candidate for secret-historical-wizard.
> 
> 'Peregrinus repello' is from Latin vaguely meaning 'stranger repel.' There are a few references in the books to muggle-repelling charms but I can't remember ever seeing a formula so please forgive the improvisation.
> 
> Duke Humfrey's library is part of the Bodleian, but it's where the library scenes are filmed for the HP movies, so I imagine Hermione and Draco feeling at home there!
> 
> The line that Draco speaks is from Act 3 Scene 3, and the whole thing is: "Perdition catch my soul/But I do love thee! And when I love thee not/Chaos is come again." UH-OH (but don't worry...ish)


	7. Any cunning cruelty

**** Hermione woke up on Wednesday morning feeling sick and shaky, and cursed herself for not having eaten any chocolate before going to sleep. She clambered out of bed and over to her washbasin, splashing cold water on her face and then scowling at her reflection. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles and she looked pale and drawn. She sighed, gripping the cool porcelain in her fingers and burning with shame as she remembered how she had treated Draco. Merlin's beard, she'd been awful – just as cruel and quick to judge as she had always accused him of being, and with even less excuse.

What was more, she could no longer deny what was between them. Hermione could just imagine how it would feel to have his bare skin against hers, to hear him whisper filthy things in her ear, his lips on her neck – she stopped, heart beating loudly in her ears and warmth in her face. It wasn't just the thought of kissing him again, though that did send a thrill of heat through her. But it was also the way he had looked at her as he'd held her in the library; like she was precious and breakable, and the thought of her breaking terrified him more than any other.

Hermione remembered the hurt on Draco's face when she had questioned his patronus charm and shuddered. She owed him an apology. More than that, probably, but an apology would be a good place to start. She bit her lip, considering her appearance in the mirror. Maybe best to have a shower and do something about the bird's nest currently masquerading as her hair before anything else, though. She checked the clock: three hours until her supervision, and then an afternoon of lectures before the evening's rehearsal. Plenty of time to panic about what on earth she would say when they saw each other again…

Hermione stood at the edge of the stage in the large, brightly lit auditorium the directors had managed to finagle for the evening, watching Freddie pretend to kick Toby as Draco, in character as Iago, looked on from the sidelines, his eyes glittering with gleeful malice. For a moment she was struck by uncertainty; he looked so like the Malfoy that she had known at school; but then he looked away from the brawling pair and caught her watching and his eyes softened fractionally. They held each other's gaze for a moment, and Hermione felt hope bloom in her chest before he turned away, returning his attention to the stage as Blaise rushed on, his expression thunderous: "What is the matter here?"

The scene continued as Othello quizzed his officers about the brawl, Draco expertly affecting an expression of innocent horror, spinning Iago's embroidery of lies with so little flourish that it was almost chilling. Hermione stepped onto the stage, looking in dismay at where Jack, who was playing Montano, lay on the ground, "What's the matter?"

Blaise caught her hands in his and raised them to his mouth,"All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed." She returned his smile, catching sight of Draco over Blaise's shoulder. He was watching the two of them closely, and she directed her smile at him too, hoping he would see the genuine warmth in it before Blaise led her offstage.

They stood together and watched as the rest of the scene played out. Draco seemed to inhabit the character of Iago like a second skin, and his manipulation of Cassio (played by Freddie) and Roderigo (a Toby who still couldn't quite stop grinning) was wholly believable. Draco could turn a glittering smile cruel with the barest quirk of a lip and had a genius for intonation that managed to wring every ounce of meaning from the words. "He's brilliant, isn't he," Blaise breathed beside Hermione, and she nodded without thinking,

"Yes, he's wonderful."

Blaise cast her a quick glance, a small smile playing about his mouth, but he didn't say anything more as they continued to watch Draco.

"So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all." Draco delivered the line thoughtfully, his smile twisting his mouth into a parody of joy. He caught Hermione's eye again and she shivered in spite of herself. Draco's face clouded, and he turned to greet Toby's return with an expression rather more sour than necessary, "How now, Roderigo!" Hermione cast her eyes down to her feet, fidgeting in her battered Converse.

Blaise slung an arm around her shoulders, "What is  _ with  _ you guys?"

Hermione gaped up at him, caught off guard, "I…er…I don't know what you mean?"

He grinned at her, "You're a terrible liar. Which is weird when you're such a good actress." He shrugged, "But whatever. I guess if you don't want to talk about it I should just let you know that I'm going out with Ed this evening, and so young master Malfoy," he inclined his head towards the stage with a dramatic wink, "Is going to be home  _ all alone _ ."

Hermione swallowed, "Um. Thanks?"

Blaise sighed, dropping his arm from her shoulders. "Obviously there's something going on that you're both refusing to talk to me about. But," His voice turned uncharacteristically serious, "Go easy on him, Granger, he's had it tougher than you probably realise." Hermione felt another wave of guilt wash over her as she remembered her behaviour in the library yesterday.

Before she could respond to Blaise however, Draco was stepping away from the stage area and coming to stand with them. "So, you two plotting behind my back then?"

Blaise's grin returned to its habitual megawatt radiance and he shook his head, "Nah mate. I was just asking Granger whether she had any plans for after this."

Draco's eyes moved to Hermione, "And? Do you?"

She met his gaze, smiling hopefully, "No, I'm free this evening."

Draco seemed to consider this, then shrugged. "Well I'm sure you've got an essay to work on, or a supervision to prep for, right?"

Hermione winced to hear her own words turned back on her, and though she couldn't blame him for doing it neither could she deny that it stung. Her shoulders dropped, and she scuffed her toe dejectedly on the wooden floor, "Yeah, guess I'll just have a quiet one." She forced a smile and affected a bright tone, "See you both tomorrow!" She turned away, hoping they hadn't spotted the tears welling in her eyes. She rushed quickly from the auditorium, waving to Ed as she slipped out of the door and into the moonlit night.

Blaise looked at Draco like he'd gone mad, "What the hell was that?"

Draco snorted, "It's not fair for her to get to treat me like shit and expect me to play nice the whole time. I might be trying to better myself but I'm not a bloody saint."

Blaise smirked, "Believe me, no one's about to accuse you of that." His tone turned sombre once more, "But seriously, Draco, it's  _ Granger _ . You've been practically in l-"

"Don't say it." Draco's voice had turned deathly quiet, a sure indication that Blaise was on thin ice.

Blaise met his glare with raised eyebrows and Draco was the first to turn away, pulling at his hair in frustration. "You're right. I mean, of course you're right, but that just makes it worse." He turned back, his expression so uncharacteristically earnest that Blaise took a step towards him, but Draco waved him off. "Look, I can't let her win the whole time, because then she'll expect it, and what happens when I really do want my own way?" He glared at Blaise, eyes glittering, "She's far too used to being the smartest in her little holy trinity; obviously Potter and Weasley could never really stand up to her. So you see,  _ I've  _ got to if I'm going to have any chance at all."

Blaise nodded thoughtfully, seeming to mull Draco's words over. "So, how long are you going to let her stew for?"

Draco checked his watch; 8pm. "I reckon another three hours or so."

Blaise barked with laughter and Draco's face relaxed into a wicked grin, just as Ed sidled up behind them and slipped an arm around Blaise's waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You ready to go?"

Blaise's eyes lit up and he beamed back at Ed before glancing at Draco, "You're OK?"

Draco nodded, smiling at the pair of them, "You kids have fun!" They turned away, walking to the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he yelled, and was rewarded with a one-fingered salute from Blaise. Draco turned and waved to Toby and Jack, who seemed to be having a very involved discussion with Pia as to exactly how to go about beating one another up, and then he followed his friends out of the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd forgotten how short this chapter was so posting another today!


	8. The native act and figure of my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoy this instalment. There will be some light smut so if you're thinking of leaving a review I would really appreciate knowing your thoughts here because I really haven't written anything like this before...

 

Hermione would be damned if she'd cry herself to sleep over Draco _bloody_ Malfoy a second night in a row. So instead she made herself a chamomile tea and curled into her deceptively comfortable desk chair with the large volume of _Spectator_ essays that she had purloined from the college library. Joseph Addison's tongue-in-cheek humour never failed to lift her mood, and she thumbed through to his thoughts on imagination. There was something in these essays, she knew; something that appealed to her magic, but she couldn't yet put her finger on it.

After a couple of hours reading, and as Addison concluded his opinions on the Royal Exchange, Hermione sighed and glared at her empty mug. Tea really wasn't strong enough for her mood this evening. She transferred her glare to the clock; quarter to eleven. Fifteen minutes until the off-licence around the corner closed. Hermione had never been much of a drinker, but she felt as though some alcohol would probably be quite helpful in the current circumstances. She narrowed her eyes at the clock and the glass face shattered. She gaped at it for a moment, before deciding that, yep, a drink was exactly what she needed.

She was feeling so sorry for herself that she didn't pay attention in the offy and ended up spending far more than she had meant to on a bottle of wine. She had found since going to Hogwarts that she had become increasingly bad at converting Galleons to pounds in her head, especially when she was upset. It was lucky that Harry's parents had left him so much money because she would have been mortified were he and Ron ever to discover quite how much she had managed to accidentally spend in transfigured wizarding currency during their year of horcrux-pursuant peregrination. Everyone had to have a weakness, she guessed, and it seemed that hers were conversion rates and patronus charms.

The thought of her patronus reminded her of Draco and pitched her back into her bleak mood. She trudged up the last few stairs and along the narrow paneled corridor to her room, pushing the door open and heading straight for the glasses ranged on the self above her desk, glinting in the bright moonlight that streamed through the windows.

"Pour one for me too, won't you Granger."

At the sound of his voice she nearly jumped out of her skin, dropping the bottle and drawing her wand in one instinctive movement. The wine bounced harmlessly on the carpet, and Hermione found herself frozen, wand drawn and pointed at Draco where he was sprawled on top of her bed, the moon silvering the lines of his face. She bristled, trying to ignore her racing heartbeat as she put up her wand. "What in the name of Cliodna's feathers are you _doing here_ , Draco?"

He smirked at her, "I wondered how you were getting on with your essay?"

She snorted, and bent to retrieve the wine from where it had rolled beneath her desk. "You know full well I wasn't working on an essay." She straightened and leveled a glare at him, "Should I even ask how you got _inside my room_?"

He widened his eyes in a semblance of innocence, "Well, if you will leave everything unlocked…" He gestured at the window and Hermione followed the motion of his hand, noting the bicycle apparently parked on her third-floor windowsill.

She glared at Draco in disbelief, "Really?"

"What?" His guileless smile was anything but. Hermione cocked an eyebrow and he chuckled, letting the smile turn mischievous. "Blaise and I might have watched _E.T._ at the weekend. But don't worry," He winked at her expression of disbelief, "I put a disillusionment charm on it." Hermione huffed a sigh, trying not to let her amusement show on her face. It still qualified as breaking and entering to her, even if she hadn't locked her _third-floor_ windows. The amusement faded however as she realised that Draco was here; that he had sought her out in spite of his coolness earlier that evening; in spite of her behaviour the day before.

She swallowed, feeling suddenly nervous. "Would you like some wine then?"

Draco sniffed, "Depends what you've got. I will admit that muggles don't seem on the whole to be nearly as bad as I grew up believing, but they do exhibit the ability to drink alarmingly poor vintages on occasion." He drew himself upright and crossed the room in a couple of strides, lifting the bottle from her hands and inspecting the label. His gaze flicked onto hers, and Hermione was uncomfortably aware that she was dressed in pyjama bottoms and a cozy jumper. "This isn't bad, Granger. I _will_ have a glass, since you're offering." He pointed his wand at the bottle and the cork flew straight out and into the waste paper basket. Hermione took the open bottle from him, turning quickly to grab two mismatched glasses; trying not to appear too self-conscious. If she was ever going to apologise, she knew, it should probably be now.

She handed him a full tumbler, not caring that it was probably a deeply uncouth volume of wine, never mind that it wasn't being served out of crystal. "I wanted to…to…um…s-say..." Why was she stammering? Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "To say that I'm sorry. For doubting that you'd changed. It wasn't fair." She peeked one eye open. Draco was gazing at her levelly, his expression unreadable. Hermione huffed, embarrassment making her prickly, "I'm afraid that's all the groveling you're going to get. And it's probably more than you deserve anyway."Draco sipped his wine, face still impassive, and Hermione growled, "Merlin's beard Draco _why are you here_?"

He swallowed, and spoke in a maddeningly neutral tone, "That's very philosophical of you Granger. If I'd known you wanted to debate metaphysics I would have-"

He was cut off by Hermione's yelp of frustration, "How do you do that? I've spent all day trying to work out how to say sorry to you, and then as soon as you appear it's as though all that I can say is pretty much, _what the fuck_ , Draco?"

He gave her a long, considering look. "You really wanted to apologise?"

Hermione nodded, "You were a complete arsehole at school, and then you were not only an arsehole but an _actual fucking_ _death eater_ , so it's been difficult for me to adjust to the idea that you might actually be halfway decent, and that I might want…" She stopped, blushing _again_ , her inarticulacy only adding to her embarrassment.

"Might want what, Hermione?" Draco's voice was soft; when she looked him in the eye his pupils were wide, black swallowing grey. His lips were pink from the wine, full and tempting, and suddenly Hermione felt her reservations melt away. _Fuck it._

Draco set his tumbler down on the bedside table as she stepped towards him, and only when she was standing a hair's breadth from him did Hermione stop, and place her glass beside his. She raised her hand and cupped the angle of his jaw; "Might want to do this."

It wasn't like before. Any uncertainty between them had disappeared when _she_ stepped towards _him_. There was an urgency to the kiss that hadn't been there previously, Draco gripping her hip with fierce possessiveness, flattening his other palm against her spine. Hermione was only too eager to comply with the demand of his touch, molding herself against the hard contours of his torso. Draco stepped backwards, pulling her with him as he sat down on her bed so that she straddled his lap. Hermione slipped her hands beneath his shirt, caressing the curves of his shoulder blades as she pressed her whole body against his, squeezing her thighs around him. Draco's teeth nipped lightly, and twisting in her grasp he threw her onto the bed, lips never leaving hers.

Draco thrust his hips gently against her and moved his mouth to her neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin beneath her jaw. Hermione fought to catch her breath, twining her fingers in his hair and digging her fingernails into his back. Draco hummed his approval from somewhere around her collarbone, and she slipped her hand around from his back to start trying to undo the buttons of his jeans.

Before she could make much headway Draco sucked in a breath and pulled away, glaring at her through the half-dark, "Are you sure about this Hermione?" She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, fingers already fumbling at his waistband again, but he caught her hand in his, other hand grasping her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye. "I mean it. I think if you push me away again now you might just kill me." Draco smiled ruefully at her, but his eyes were dark and serious, pale skin beautiful in the moonlight.

Hermione swallowed, "I'm sure. I want this, Draco. I want you."

She felt the tension bleed out of him as he melted against her. This time when she reached to unbutton his jeans he was there before her, and she shimmied free of her pyjama bottoms as he kicked off the denim. Draco slipped his hands beneath her t-shirt, thumbs skimming the edge of her breasts as he pulled it over her head, lips landing back on hers with renewed fervor once she was free of it. Hermione's fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt with fevered eagerness, sighing with relief when his bare chest met hers. Raising himself onto his elbows, Draco moved his hand to cup her breast, circling his thumb lazily around the hard bud of her nipple. Hermione arched into his touch, painfully aware that she was naked beneath him, feeling the firm press of his aroused length through his boxers.

Hermione moaned with frustration, biting at Draco's lip and wriggling a hand beneath the elastic waistband. He snickered into her mouth and caught her wrists in one hand, pulling her arms gently up and over her head to pin them, just as he had when they had rehearsed the death scene together. Was that only a few days ago? "How poor are they that have not patience," Draco whispered, lips skimming hers and eyes a wicked gleam as his free hand moved south, grazing her belly and then cupping between her legs as he slipped two fingers into her waiting warmth.

Hermione cried out, every nerve ending on fire with wanting him, and Draco chuckled softly as he moved his fingers lazily inside her. Hermione wasn't a virgin but sex with Ron had been tender and sweet, safe and reliable. This was something else. Draco's fingers seemed to know the secrets of her, his touch expertly stroking, driving her wild. She bit down a scream and he pressed his mouth to hers, "Let _go,_ Hermione."

He felt it the moment she did, muscles clenching and then relaxing in a shivering ripple around his fingers. A flush had crept up her neck and he saw a sprinkle of goosebumps spread across her freckled shoulders. Hermione opened her eyes, pupils huge in a fine ring of golden-brown. Draco stared at her, lost in her gaze, until she cocked her head at him mischievously, "Will you come to bed my lord?" He grinned, and it was the work of a moment to remove his boxers. Draco aligned himself, the head of his shaft nudging at her, and Hermione gave a delicious wriggle. Gently but firmly he pressed forwards until he was sheathed tightly within her.

Hermione tightened her muscles on instinct, and felt rather than heard Draco choke back a cry. The sound seemed to stir something primal within her, and she cast off the last of her inhibitions, moaning as he began to move, bearing down as he thrust into her so that Draco could barely control himself. "Give me a chance here, Granger," he groaned against her neck.

Hermione smiled against his cheek, "Not a chance, Malfoy. You're coming with me." With that she fisted her hand in his hair, and pulled his face back to claim his mouth with a wild kiss. Draco relinquished any attempt at restraint and gave into his passion. It was not long before he felt Hermione's muscles begin to clench and quiver around him again, and with what felt like outrageous effort he lifted his mouth from hers and stared into her eyes as her pupils dilated again. The expression on her face as she came was all it took to push Draco to the edge, and with a rough gasp he followed her over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How poor are they that have not patience" is a line spoken by Iago in Act II Scene 3 of Othello.


	9. Comfort forswear me

After, they lay in silence for a long time. Draco's fingers drew lazy circles on Hermione's back as they gazed into one another's eyes. It was alarmingly intimate, thought Hermione, but somehow the idea was no longer frightening. Whatever this was between them it had scared her mostly because it had taken her so completely by surprise.

But then again, she thought to herself, perhaps part of the reason that they had been so at each other's throats at school was because they were so similar, just forced onto opposite sides. Malfoy's cruelty at school had always had extra bite because he was the best intellectual competition Hogwarts had to offer; his rejection harder to bear because of her grudging respect for his cleverness. And, if she was honest with herself, because he had always provoked something profoundly physical in her. She had attributed it to pure loathing, but here, now, with no gulf of misunderstanding between them, she felt that same thrill of excitement that she always had, and it was from his sheer  _ Draco _ -ness. She felt her heart lift unexpectedly at the thought.

"What are you thinking?" His voice was soft, the tone mildly curious, and Hermione wondered what had shown on her face.

"That I'm not afraid of you any more. That I'm not afraid of  _ this _ any more."

He smiled, and it was small and shy and lovely, so different to the smirk that he usually wore. "I'm glad to hear it."

He raised his hand to smooth her hair and Hermione's eyes fell on the skin of his left forearm, where the faintest scar caught the pale light. She looked back at Draco, confused, to see him watching her reaction. "It's gone?"

His voice was toneless, "Almost completely. The moment Voldemort was destroyed."

She frowned, ran a thumb across the thin lines that still marked his skin, and then surprised herself by pressing her lips to it. She raised her eyes to his face, which was frozen in shock, all sharp angles and pools of shadow. "You're so different," she whispered.

"To what?"

"To what I thought you were."

Draco's smile was rueful, "I've done a lot of bad things, Hermione."

She didn't answer him, instead raising her hand to his cheek and stroking her fingers across the glinting stubble. Draco placed his hand over hers, closing his eyes.

* * *

 

When she woke up she was alone in the bed, and sunlight streamed through the windows, no bicycle in sight. Hermione sat up, wondering for a wild moment whether she had dreamed it. She clambered from the bed and stretched, and that was when she saw the delicate pink flower on her desk. A Hermione peony. She smiled with delight at the unexpected gesture, shaking her head at herself as she grabbed her towel and made for the shower down the hall.

* * *

 

Hermione didn't see Draco at all next day, but then that was hardly unusual, and she had been busy with lectures and studying in the library. A little part of her had hoped he would seek her out, had even sat at her favourite desk in the Radcliffe, knowing he knew her habits, but she hadn't caught even a glimpse of his silver-blonde hair. Still, the stupid smile had lingered all day, and she had spent longer than she would care to admit gazing off into space as she relived the night before.

She had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn't realised the time until it was striking six. Rushing down the corridor she burst into the rehearsal room at Exeter, startling Toby and Freddie, who seemed to be practicing their fight again at the back of the space. "I'm – sorry," Hermione gasped, "Lost – track – of – time." She looked around the room, heart in her mouth. Pia and Holly were sat watching the stage area, and Caroline grinned at her from where she was sat by the window with Tessa, the second-year from Magdalen who was playing Bianca. Hermione waved and started to make her way over to them, glancing at the stage to see which scene Draco and Blaise were rehearsing. She was surprised, however, to see that the tall, blonde person up there was not Draco but Ed, reading from a script as Blaise paced back and forth before him, gesticulating wildly.

Hermione paused on her way over to the girls and sank into a seat beside Simon and Dominic. "Where's Malfoy?" she asked.

Simon glanced at her, "Apparently his mum's visiting. Wanted to be shown around and didn't understand how rehearsals could possibly be more important," He flashed a grin at her, "Needs to cut those apron strings if you ask me."

Hermione was too surprised to hide her consternation. "His  _ mum _ ?"

Simon looked at her more closely, "Yeah, that's what Blaise said. Do you know her or something?"

Hermione coughed, "No. Well I mean, we've met. I guess." She squirmed at the uncomfortable memories of Malfoy Manor.

Simon nodded, "That bad eh?"

Hermione didn't answer, her thoughts in turmoil, and Simon soon turned his attention back to the stage where Ed was standing with one hip cocked, pouting at Blaise in an absurd imitation of Draco, "I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, For too much loving you."

Blaise beamed at him, reaching out a hand, "I am bound to thee forever."

When Ed pulled Blaise towards him Pia leapt from her chair, "GUYS! This isn't helpful!" Hermione groaned, smiling in spite of herself at their antics, and forgetting for a moment her feeling of foreboding at the news of Narcissa's visit.

Holly was flipping through her script, "Bloody Malfoy, he's in practically every scene…aha!" She looked up, and found Hermione, "You're here! Well we can do the death scene at least."

Hermione rose from her chair, realizing with a shock that for all their good intentions it would be the first time that she and Blaise had practiced the scene since she read through it with Draco just under a week ago. And look how  _ that  _ had turned out. But, she reasoned to herself as she walked up to the stage area, if the googly-eyes that he was currently directing at Ed were anything to go by then Blaise was hardly likely to end the scene the way that Draco had. She hoped not anyway.

She laid herself down on the makeshift 'bed' of chairs that the directors pushed together, and listened as Blaise began the soliloquy. His voice was deeper than Draco's, smooth and rich as velvet, delivering the lines with a ponderous weight that communicated Othello's moral predicament.

"Yet I'll not shed her blood,

Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow

And smooth as monumental alabaster…"

Hermione frowned to herself; when Draco had delivered the line there had been a caress in his voice – a musing tone that told Hermione that he was  _ looking  _ at her as he spoke. Blaise spoke with gravity and thoughtfulness but Hermione didn't get the sense from him that Othello was really talking about Desdemona. Blaise was moving closer to her she could hear, and then – "I'll smell it on the tree - " She schooled her face to sleeping blankness, ready for Blaise to kiss her, but he simply leant and took a deep breath of her hair, before continuing. "One more, one more," His fingers traced her lips, and Hermione almost laughed. Was he not going to kiss her at all? "One more and that's the last." Finally Blaise leant and swept a dry kiss over her mouth.

She listened to the end of the soliloquy, and then gave an exaggerated frown, stretching and looking about her – "Who's there? Othello?"

Blaise was stood off to the side, looking away. He spoke quietly, "Ay, Desdemona."

Pia stood up, "Blaise can you look at her when you say it? And Hermione, can you look, I don't know, more relaxed?" A titter ran around the room and Hermione dipped her head to hide her embarrassed smile.

The next time around Blaise glared coldly at her and she forgot all about looking relaxed, barely needing to feign her alarm at the sudden return of the expression that she recognized from their school years. Her "Will you come to bed, my lord?" sounded so uncertain that Pia made them run it three more times.

Blaise had seemed caught off-guard by Hermione's reaction to his glare, and he continued more uncertainly. By the time they got around to the actual murder it was clear the scene was becoming impossibly stilted. The emphases were all over the place, and she and Blaise seemed to be reading each other's cues all wrong. Finally Holly stood up with a sigh, "Obviously this needs some work. Can we do it again on…" She checked the schedule, "…on Sunday? And can you guys try and run it again before then? Just…I don't know…get more comfortable with it?"

Hermione smiled tightly at her, feeling cross and frustrated with herself. Damn Draco for playing that scene so distinctively! And damn him for not being here! Narcissa had impeccable timing, Hermione thought darkly, as she slung her bag onto her shoulder and made to march out of the room.

"Hermione, wait!" Blaise came jogging after her. When she turned, he pulled an exaggerated grimace at her. "So, that went pretty much as badly as it could have."

Hermione couldn't help but crack a small smile at his hangdog tone, "Yeah…you reckon they'll fire us?"

He shrugged, "Guess I'll have to work hard to stay in Ed's good books." His habitual smile faded slightly and he looked at her earnestly, "We do need to work on it though. Are you free the rest of the evening?"

Hermione checked her watch, thinking about the pile of books on her desk in the Radcliffe, and the list of possible magical manuscripts that she was planning on snooping around on. It was barely 8pm however, and, she reasoned, she and Blaise really did need to do something about the death scene. "Yeah I guess."

He lit up, "Brilliant. I'll just get my stuff and we can go back to the House. After all, that's where the Firewhisky is!" Hermione tried not to groan; she really shouldn't be drinking, although it would probably help to eradicate their odd awkwardness with one another when they acted out the scene again.

As Hermione stood waiting for Blaise to come back Caroline sidled up, "If you guys are off to practice, can I tag along?"

"Yeah, of course!" Hermione smiled in relief, "I mean, it would be helpful to have someone there to watch, and then hopefully if it goes well we can get into your bit with Blaise, right?"

Caroline nodded enthusiastically, "Please tell me you're rehearsing at the House. Isn't their room just the best? How did they swing that?" She gasped, "Is Blaise a prince? No, hold on, is Draco an earl? That fits better." Her eyes glazed over, "I can totally see him as some sort of dissolute nobleman."

Hermione felt her lips quirk in spite of herself, thinking of the pink flower on her desk, "He's really quite sweet, when you break through the arrogance."

Caroline looked at her sharply, one eyebrow raised, "Is he now?"

Hermione blushed and opened her mouth to equivocate , but just then Blaise came back, exclaiming with delight when he heard Caroline was coming too, and insisting on linking arms with both girls as he sauntered out, dragging them with him.

* * *

 

Somehow, they ended up at The Bear, having a heated discussion about just how Blaise should murder Hermione – strangling or pillow – and Caroline had to intervene to prevent the pub acquiring another ghost when the practical demonstration with a sofa cushion took on a little too much realism owing to a considerable quantity of wine. Giggling, they picked up an Indian takeaway and stumbled back through Canterbury Gate, weaving across to Peck Quad and up the boys' staircase.

Blaise was fumbling with the lock, having dropped his keys a second time and provoking hopeless laughter from the girls, when the door was wrenched open from the inside. Draco's face was a picture of confusion, "Zabini, what the – " but when he caught sight of Hermione and Caroline his eyes widened with what looked horribly like dismay.

Hermione felt herself redden with embarrassment; he didn't exactly look pleased to see them; but then a low, melodious voice floated out of the room – "Draco, what's the matter?" – and Narcissa Malfoy's ice-queen face appeared by her son's shoulder. Her brows arched delicately as she took in the three of them, frozen sheepishly on the stairs. "Well, Blaise, won't you and Miss Granger and your -" she paused as her eyes skated over Caroline "-  _ friend _ come in and join us?"


	10. A mischief that is past and gone

**** Blaise was the first to come to life, stepping forward and sweeping into a graceful bow as he clasped Narcissa's hand to his mouth. "Mrs Malfoy, a delight  _ as ever  _ to see you, and an honour to have you grace our humble abode with your presence." He somehow managed not to slur his words, and so the effect was only slightly ruined by the bag of Indian food swinging from his other hand.

Hermione felt a hysterical giggle begin at the back of her throat as she watched Blaise introducing Caroline, and did her best to stifle it. She couldn't possibly face up to Narcissa Malfoy while drunk. Trying to be as stealthy as possible, she let her wand slip from its wrist holster into her hand, and murmured " _ Vocatus Apstergeo. _ " There was a spark of heat where her wand tip dug into her elbow, and then she felt a moment's head-rush as several units of alcohol were forcibly expunged from her system by the useful little charm. She opened her eyes to see Draco looking at her with a hint of amusement as Blaise pulled Caroline and Narcissa with him into the sitting room. Hermione made to follow the others, but Draco stopped her with his hand on her hip.

"Just a sec." His voice was quiet, but he pitched it louder as he called over his shoulder, "I've got to ask Granger about something, be right with you." Draco stepped out onto the landing, forcing Hermione back and pulling the door closed behind him with the hand that wasn't holding her. As soon as the door was shut he cupped her jaw and claimed her lips in a hungry kiss that made Hermione go weak at the knees. She moaned and pressed back against him, surprised and relieved at the same time by his greeting.

After a few seconds, and long before either of them would have liked to, Draco broke the kiss, sighing heavily and leaning his forehead against Hermione's. "I have been wanting to do that  _ all day _ . Merlin's beard, my mother's timing is atrocious." He ran his hand through Hermione's hair, twisting a curl around one finger, "Nice little bit of charmwork there, Granger. You've burnt your sleeve though."

Hermione cursed and pulled at her jumper to see that there was indeed a small, singed patch just on the inside of her elbow. Draco snickered and lifted his wand, " _ Reficio. _ " The dark patch disappeared, and Hermione pursed her lips.

"I didn't think repair spells worked on natural fibres."

Draco smirked, "They don't. But that's a reversion spell: it basically makes the wool forget it was burned. A little invention of my own." His gaze hovered on her mouth a moment before lifting to her eyes. "Don't let my mother get to you. Her bark is worse than her bite."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, "Well I remember her bark being  _ pretty  _ bad."

Draco winced, "I'm sorry. I'd have preferred a little more…uh… _ preparation _ before putting the two of you in the same room again." He stroked a finger over her temple and Hermione leaned instinctively into his touch. "Will you be alright?"

She smiled, lifting his hand from her face and holding it to her lips, "I'm sure I'll manage."

* * *

 

Stepping into the room behind Draco, Hermione deliberately avoided Blaise and Caroline's eager stares and looked instead towards Narcissa. She was sat in one of the mismatched armchairs by the fireplace, her posture relaxed though still poised, a glass of dark red wine clasped in one hand. Her eyes were pools of deep blue and Hermione met her gaze expecting an icy glare, but she was surprised to find Narcissa contemplating her thoughtfully. "Miss Granger. What an unexpected pleasure."

Hermione swallowed, remembered what Draco had said, and willed herself not to be intimidated. "Mrs Malfoy. It's…very nice to see you too." She heard Blaise's snort, which he tried to disguise as a cough, and shot a glare at him, realizing as she did that Draco was doing exactly the same and that the combination of the two of them was having a counterproductive effect.

Draco huffed a sigh and pushed Hermione towards the sofa, "Why don't you and Mother catch up while I help Blaise with the food?" Hermione gave him a look of pure panic, but went to sit on the sofa nonetheless. She tried to forget the last time she had been sat in a room with Narcissa Malfoy, when Bellatrix had tried to torture answers out of her after she, Harry and Ron had been captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. Remembering how that had panned out she gritted her teeth and glowered defiantly at Narcissa. The older woman's lips twitched with amusement, and the expression was so reminiscent of her son that Hermione felt some of the wind leave the sails of her anger.

Narcissa stared at her a moment further in cool assessment, then she raised her wand. Hermione flinched, looking over at Caroline in alarm, but her friend was on the other side of the room, distracted as she helped (or rather hindered) Draco as he pulled plates from a cupboard. When Hermione looked back, Narcissa had summoned a second glass and was pouring wine into it from a dusty bottle. She handed the glass to Hermione, who accepted it tentatively, searching Narcissa's face for a hint as to how to proceed. Again, the corner of the woman's mouth lifted slightly, and she raised her glass to Hermione. "Your very good health, my dear."

Hermione nodded dumbly, and sipped at her glass, watching Narcissa do the same. The wine was rich and full-bodied, and she knew without needing to see anything more of the bottle that it was probably worth more than her parents' house. Narcissa's eyes hadn't moved from her face as she drank her wine, and Hermione could feel herself wanting to squirm with self-consciousness. She lowered her glass and opened her mouth to break the uncomfortable silence between them, but Narcissa spoke first, "How are you finding your studies?"

The ordinariness of the question, delivered nonetheless with typical urbanity, threw Hermione for a moment, and she felt herself gaping at Narcissa before she regained control. "Very…very interesting, thank you. I think that Oxford has a great deal to offer someone of," she paused, looking for the right phrasing, "Of our educational background."

Narcissa smiled, cat-like as she leaned back in the armchair, "Draco said much the same thing when I asked him. I guess my," her eyes went to Caroline, now happily engaged in doling out rice and jalfrezi onto plates, " _ reservations  _ would appear to be baseless."

Hermione's mouth felt dry; she was not prepared to duel with Narcissa Malfoy this evening, be it with words or wands. She was saved from having to reply by Draco sitting down beside her. "Food's ready, if you want any. Are you playing nice, Mother?" He rested his hand at the base of Hermione's spine for just a moment, out of sight of anyone else. Narcissa's eyes narrowed fractionally, and when she looked at Hermione again it was with penetrating sharpness.

Hermione's stomach churned and she felt her palms begin to sweat. Narcissa was being civil, which was unnerving in itself, but she had always been something of an unknown quantity. As sneering as Bellatrix but as maternal as Andromeda, she had been nothing but vile to Hermione up until that day. However, she couldn't forget that it was Narcissa's lie to Voldemort that had handed Harry victory from the jaws of defeat. All in all, Hermione suspected that Narcissa only ever acted according to her own self-interest, which here and now, unfortunately, was impossible to predict.

Narcissa's eyes slipped from Hermione's face to Draco's, and she smiled with disarming sweetness; "I'm playing the hand that you appear to have dealt me, Draco darling."

Hermione tried to sip at her wine, but in her nervousness ended up taking a large gulp. She spluttered, and Draco grabbed the glass before she could spill it, patting her back between her shoulder blades. Again, his hand lingered a second too long as she caught her breath, and when she looked up again Narcissa's smile had disappeared, replaced by a calculating look. "So, Miss Granger, how are you finding being apart from your friends? I can see that you're having no trouble making new ones." Again Narcissa's eyes moved to where Caroline was sat with Blaise, apparently making short work of the chicken jalfrezi.

Hermione made an attempt at a serene smile, which she was fairly certain came off as more of a grimace. "It's been fine. I stay in touch with everyone in London. Harry and Ron are both enjoying Auror training, although they'll be taking a break to come and see the play." She felt Draco stiffen minutely beside her, and leaned fractionally against him in reassurance.

"Ah yes." Narcissa wrinkled her nose delicately. "Do give Mr Potter my best when next you see him, won't you." She raised her glass to her lips again, "And you're enjoying getting to know my son better, I see."

Hermione blushed crimson, and Draco jumped in, "Well, Mother, it turns out that Hermione and I have quite a bit in common when we're not at each other's throats."

"Indeed." Narcissa scrutinized her nails, her tone bored, "Well you always did harp on about her, Draco. It used to make your father furious."

It was Draco's turn to blush, and Hermione glanced at him in surprise. They were rescued by the arrival of Caroline and Blaise, who, having apparently finished three portions of curry between the two of them, came and dropped themselves to the floor. Blaise lay on his stomach, gazing up at Draco and Hermione with impish warmth, and Caroline leant back against Hermione's legs, her curious gaze fixed on Narcissa. "Why would Draco's dad not like him talking about Hermione?"

Narcissa raised her eyebrows and Hermione felt a sudden thrill of fear, but it was replaced by astonishment when the older woman smiled warmly at Caroline. "Because, dear girl, Draco's father had some rather outmoded ideas about certain aspects of…ah… _ class _ ."

There was a beat of stunned silence, before Hermione turned to Draco, whose face was utterly still. "Had?"

He stared at her, "You didn't know?"

Blaise blew out a breath that broke the tense silence. "Caro, you know what? I think it might be time for me to escort you home so that you can have no memory of this tomorrow." He grabbed her by the hand, and before anyone else could say anything there was a  _ crack _ and the pair of them disappeared.

A small voice in the back of Hermione's mind wanted to be concerned about Blaise attempting memory charms while inebriated, but she was too preoccupied with the bombshell that had just been dropped on her. "What does she mean,  _ had _ ?"

Draco's eyes held a swirl of emotions – pain, anger, regret – but when they fixed on hers Hermione saw them blaze with defiant earnestness. "He wouldn't accept the terms of the pardon, and naturally he wouldn't accept Azkaban." He looked away and rubbed at his left forearm. "He always kept a stock of poisons at the Manor. Of course, I'd already struck a bargain with Shacklebolt and McGonagall, so he wrote me out of his will, though he'd forfeited his estate in any case so it was really only a symbolic gesture…"

He trailed off, and Hermione placed her hand on his, twining their fingers and stilling the fidget. She felt tears prick at her eyes, "I'm so sorry Draco. Honestly, I didn't know."

He shot her a look of gratitude, warm and true, then his eyes slipped past her. "Adapt or die, isn't that right Mother?"

Narcissa had been watching the exchange closely, a small smile playing about her mouth. "Indeed, my darling. And if you can't adapt…well. Your father made his choice. As did we all." She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, then brought her eyes back to meet Hermione's. "I must say Miss Granger, I do envy the unambiguousness of your position."

Hermione felt as though someone had poured icy water over her. "You…what?"

Narcissa's face was serious, all trace of humour gone. "Pureblood wizards have to sift through so many shades of grey. We can't always be relied upon to make the right choice first time around." Her eyes lingered on her son. "We can only hope to be forgiven for past mistakes." She switched her gaze back to Hermione, "As I said before, do remember me to Mr Potter."

With that, Narcissa rose from her chair and straightened her elegant robes. Draco stood too, and Hermione followed him instinctively. When she took her son in her arms, Hermione saw a fierceness enter Narcissa's expression, but it was gone when she turned towards her. "It has been interesting speaking with you, Miss Granger. I can only hope that we have the chance of further conversation soon." There was a crack, and Narcissa disapparated.

Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't realised that she was holding, and sagged into Draco's waiting arms. "I am truly sorry about your father, Draco...I can't imagine..."

He shushed her, wrapping her in a tight embrace, mouth against her hair. "I know. Thank you."

She lifted her head from his shoulder, "What for?"

Draco gave a wry half-smile. "For not rising to her. She means..." he frowned, "Well…not  _ well _ exactly…but…" he sighed, "She's very protective of me. And she worries about what I'm trying to do."

Hermione cocked her head, "What are you trying to do?"

Draco's smile returned as he brought his lips to hers, "Make up for lost time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa is my favourite haha


	11. My heart upon my sleeve

Hermione awoke in the dim light before dawn to a faint tapping sound. For a moment she wasn't sure where she was, then she shifted and Draco's arms tightened around her, holding her close in the crescent of his warmth. Hermione smiled, stroking his arm, remembering how he'd caught her wrist last night as she made to leave, and whispered – half asleep – "Stay."

Now, feeling her move, he made a low sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh. "It's far too early for you to be awake, Granger."

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could the tapping came again. This time it was clear that it was at the window. Draco lifted his head from where it had been buried in the back of Hermione's neck and scowled at the curtains. "Bloody owls. " He pulled his arm gently from beneath her shoulders and reached behind the dark green fabric to open the casement.

Hermione heard a hoot, and the flutter of wings, and then Draco was drawing his arm back inside, a creamy envelope clutched in his hand. He sat up to read it, frowning slightly.

Hermione took the opportunity to study his unguarded face. He was so utterly unlike the Draco Malfoy that she had known at school, and yet so familiar. She knew that she had pushed him away for fear of falling, but now that it had happened the speed and intensity didn't feel alarming, but inevitable. It was as though he had been waiting at the edge of her life, distorting everything with his curious gravity, throwing her off-balance. Now however, the sharp, jagged edges of him matched up to something rough and incomplete within her. She felt the calm certainty of it; the poised perfection; and she lay there, savouring the knowing.

Draco reached the end of the letter and sighed. Hermione propped herself up on one elbow, "Something wrong?" Blithe, no trace of the way her heart skipped when he breathed in her general vicinity.

He blinked the frown from his face, before scrunching the parchment in his fist and throwing it on the floor. "One of my business associates wants to bring forward our meeting today. Bit of a pain, but there we are."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, "Business associates? I thought you said you were disinherited?"

Draco smiled slyly, "From my father's estate, yes. But my mother had the foresight to move most of the Malfoy assets into my name after the first wizarding war. For insurance purposes. And then of course there's the matter of her Black inheritance."

Hermione blinked, having forgotten for a moment that Grimmauld Place was an anomaly, and that most of Sirius's family wealth would of course have come to Narcissa as the last surviving Black who hadn't been blasted off the family tree. "So, you've still got more money than God?"

Draco laughed, "That's such a muggle thing to say, Granger. I've got more gold than Midas, it's true, and without the unfortunate curse to go with it." He smiled fondly at her, making strange and lovely things happen low in her stomach.

"I guess you need to get on then, if they're owling you this early?"

Draco checked the clock beside his bed, where the planets moved in a complex arithmantic pattern. "I think I could probably spare, say, half an hour or so."

He smirked at her, and Hermione looked at him in feigned puzzlement. "Half an hour? Whatever for?"

Draco's smile turned feral and he shifted so that he was braced above her, dipping his head to kiss the hollow below her ear, the spot between her clavicles, then flicking his tongue across one nipple. "I think," he pressed his lips to the flat plane of her stomach, "It would be easiest if I showed you, no?" He gave her a mischievous smile before dipping his head between her legs, and Hermione cried out as he put his wicked tongue to work.

It turned out he could spare considerably more than half an hour.

* * *

 

McGonagall steepled her fingers and shot a penetrating look across them. "You're certain that the archives are clear?"

Draco leant back in his chair, trying not to get distracted by the snow swirling outside the window of the Hogwarts Headmistress's office. "I think 'certain' would be an exaggeration. I can't detect anything else at the moment, but as Tuesday night showed there may well be things that I've missed."

McGonagall nodded briskly, "I guess that we shall just have to continue to be vigilant." She peered over her square-framed spectacles at him, "Has Miss Granger recovered fully from her ordeal?"

Draco's mind flashed to Hermione in his bed that morning, and he couldn't stop the small smile that ghosted across his lips. "She seems to be holding up alright."

His old professor's spectacles flashed as she continued to regard him closely, and she pursed her lips, "Without wanting to pry - "

"Then don't." Draco was surprised by the vehemence of his tone. He hadn't snapped at McGonagall like that since the first few days following Voldemort's defeat. By the way she drew back and stiffened her shoulders he could tell that he had surprised and offended her, and cursed his own defensiveness. He sighed, and pressed his hands to his face.

When he looked up again McGonagall's expression had softened. She tapped her wand on the desk and a tray of tea things appeared. "Have a biscuit, Malfoy."

Draco complied wordlessly, having been treated to McGonagall's particular brand of compassion a number of times in the past eighteen months. She poured them each a cup of tea, then sat back as the steam rose between them and simply waited for him to talk.

He took a sip of scalding tea, and then replaced his cup on its saucer, thumbing the porcelain and wondering where to start. "It's been a long time since I let myself really  _ want  _ something," he finally blurted.

McGonagall nodded, teacup poised in her hand, "Go on."

He sighed, "I'm good at dark magic. And I know that's why you and Shacklebolt have me doing what I'm doing but I've also done  _ bad things _ ." He looked up, expression lost and frightened, "What if I don't deserve her? What if I  _ can't _ ?"

McGonagall huffed, "Don't be ridiculous." She held up a hand to stop his protest, "Now, I don't know  _ what  _ has happened since Tuesday, but it must be significant or you wouldn't be panicking. What I can tell you is this: Miss Granger is a smart witch, and she has excellent instincts. You said she saw your Patronus?" Draco nodded wordlessly, and McGonagall went on, "Well then, if she has decided to trust you, she has good grounds to." She gave him a small smile, "You are not irredeemable Draco. You know that."

It was strange, he thought, because he did know it, could cast a bloody corporeal Patronus for fuck's sake, and yet hearing McGonagall say it made it real. He swirled his tea thoughtfully, watching the leaves dance in the water. McGonagall's gaze was warm, and her eyes twinkled as she watched him, "Seeking your future?"

Draco smirked and set the cup on the table. "I don't think Divination is the answer, somehow."

McGonagall's smile faded, gaze turning thoughtful. "Have you told Miss Granger about the terms of your parole?"

He shook his head, "It hasn't felt like the right time yet."

She dipped her chin, eyes piercing into his. "A fair assertion. But she deserves to know."

* * *

 

Hermione emerged from Draco's bedroom at around ten, shrugging one of his deliciously soft and slouchy grey jumpers on over her jeans. She was greeted by the sight of Blaise, ensconced in the armchair facing Draco's door, and grinning evilly, "I KNEW you were in there."

Hermione yawned grandly and rolled her neck. "Congratulations. You win taking me for coffee."

Blaise's smile threatened to split his face in two, "Oh-HO, out STRUMPET! Did someone not get enough sleep last night?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "Have you and Draco been making the beast with two backs, eh?" Hermione sent a half-hearted stinging hex in his direction, which he dodged with a laugh, "Come ooooon, Hermione, give me something here."

She smiled, pulling on her coat and winding her scarf around her neck to hide her faint blush, "Well, husband, let's just say that he  _ may _ have done your office twixt the sheets."

Blaise let out a crow of triumph, as he pulled her out of the room "YES! My man! My lovely lady-wife!" He leant in and pecked her on the cheek, "Let me buy you that coffee. You've just made my day."

They stopped at Taylors on the High Street, where Blaise bought black coffees and pastries. Hermione accepted her share of the spoils gratefully, and they mooched along the in the direction of Magdalen Bridge, chewing and blowing out steaming breaths. When she finished her croissant Hermione turned to Blaise, "I meant to ask, did you get Caroline home OK?"

"Ugh, yes." Blaise gave a little shudder and leant on the parapet. " _ Eventually _ . She went into a sort of fugue state after the apparition, which gave me time for a little  _ Apstergeo _ charm." His face twisted in distaste, "Why is it that the spell for removing drunkenness is so hard to perform when drunk?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Did you manage to erase her memory?"

Blaise widened his eyes in mock offence, "How dare you! Of course I did. She'll be wondering why she blacked out after the curry but hey," he grinned sardonically, "alcohol does weird things to your memory."

Hermione felt a little knot of worry inside her unclench in relief and she leaned beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and watching the punts bobbing gently. "Glad to hear it. Poor Caro."

She was about to ask Blaise when he wanted to run the death scene again when she felt her pocket grow warm. Setting her coffee down on the wall, she pulled a glowing Galleon from her pocket. As the pair of them watched, the letters and numbers around the edge shimmered and reformed:  _ G 1300 YOUR PLACE _ . Blaise gazed at it in fascination, before looking up at her. "Is that a Protean charm, Granger?"

Hermione nodded, "Much more discreet than having owls flying around everywhere." She checked her wrist, then realised she must have left her watch on Draco's bedside table. "What time is it?"

Blaise fished a pocket-watch from somewhere in the depths of his coat, smirking at her expression of disbelief, "Nearly half eleven. Who are you meeting?"

Hermione was already turning and starting back in the direction of Merton, "Ginny Weasley," she glanced sideways at him as he caught her up, "Probably best that you and Draco don't come calling this afternoon."

Blaise eyed her, "Fair enough. But Hermione," He caught her arm, forcing her to stop and look him in the eye, "You're serious about this thing with Draco, right?"

She frowned, confused and a little worried by his sudden seriousness, "Yes, of course I am. Okay?"

He nodded and let go of her. "Okay. Just checking." He let the humour creep back into his voice, "You run along now and have fun with the Ginger Princ – _ ow _ !" He rubbed his arm where Hermione had thumped him. She could hear him laughing as she carried on up the street. "Take a joke, Granger!" he yelled after her, and Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself. It would be wonderful to see Ginny after so long, even if she wasn't quite sure how she was going to tell her  _ all  _ her news.


	12. Tis a strange truth

 

Hermione was never quite sure how much experience of muggle foodstuffs some of her friends actually had. While she had seen Draco and Blaise tuck in happily to all manner of things, Hermione somehow doubted that Ginny would choose Hobnobs over Cauldron Cakes, or a Kinder Egg over a Chocolate Frog. She was glad, therefore, that she had had the foresight to keep a stash of wizarding snacks. She had a feeling that she and Ginny would probably be sitting up well into the night.

Hermione cast her eyes around the room, making sure that nothing was out of place. She felt a nagging sense of worry and nervousness, wondering how to tell Ginny about Draco.  _ Would _ she tell Ginny about Draco? She couldn't imagine any scenario in which that conversation went well…

She was stood in the middle of the room chewing her lip when the fireplace suddenly flared green. Hermione had been linked up to the Floo Network when she first went up to Oxford but the fireplace hadn't been used before now, so when Ginny came tumbling out in a flurry of green fabric and bright hair it made her jump. She had barely a moment to recover before the younger girl leapt at her with a squeal – "HERMIIIIIIIIIIIONEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

They fell to the floor in a hopelessly jumbled heap, both laughing with delight to see one another, and Hermione felt her nerves dissipate with the sheer joy of Ginny's presence. "How are you?!" Ginny yelped, her robes and overnight bag tangling about them and dooming to failure any attempt to raise themselves elegantly from the carpet. In any case, they were laughing too much to even try.

When Hermione finally extricated herself she put out a hand to help Ginny up, and then they were hugging again, arms tight around one another. "I'm good," Hermione managed to say, still breathless with laughter, as Ginny finally released her. "I'm really good. More to the point, how are you? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Ginny shrugged and grinned, "Oh you know. I got sick of playing Quidditch every waking hour and only seeing boys." She gave a dramatic sigh, "They're useless Hermione, honestly. Kreacher's fighting a losing battle trying to stop Grimmauld Place turning into some sort of frat house."

Ginny gave an exaggerated shudder and Hermione gaped at her, "Gin – your hair!"

The other girl grinned and flicked her head around, showing off the smooth cap of hair that Hermione had firstly assumed was the result of a tight ponytail but she now saw was a pixie-ish crop. "I was fed up with spending an hour combing out tangles after every practice. You like it?"

Hermione swallowed her shock, "I love it! But, Merlin's beard, Ginny – what did Harry say?"

Ginny laughed and clapped her hands, "He was absolutely  _ horrified _ , we had such a fight about it! He wanted me to buy a hair-growth potion, but I didn't fancy growing a moustache." Hermione giggled, and Ginny quickly joined in, and soon they were hopelessly laughing again. Ginny wiped her eyes before she continued, "And obviously with our best potionmaker away fighting the forces of wizarding ignorance we couldn't just whip one up." She raised and eyebrow at Hermione, "I think Harry's half-hoping that I'll let you re-grow it for me. But to be honest I think he quite likes it now that he's over the initial shock. And I love it, so that's what counts."

She set her bag down, finally, and glanced around the room before turning back to Hermione and wiggling her eyebrows comically, "Well this is pretty nice!" She gestured towards the shelves piled with magical books that Hermione had quietly liberated from the various libraries scattered throughout the university. "Very….spacious." Ginny narrowed her eyes and scanned the room again. "Unless I've got this very wrong I'm guessing an Undetectable Extension Charm?"

Hermione blushed at being caught out. "You've got me. I ran out of shelves!"

Ginny grinned at her, "Well I'd expect nothing less." She threw herself down on the battered sofa and affected a childish pout. "Now what's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?"

Hermione was glad that, a good eighteen months after first being shown  _ Some Like It Hot _ , the wholehearted enthusiasm with which Ginny had embraced Old-Hollywood camp showed no signs of abating. She cocked her hip and put on her best drawl. "Well ma'am, here in this particular gin joint we got…er, no gin, but we got Pumpkin Juice, Butterbeer," She paused, checking her watch "Maybe a little early for Firewhiskey…" She shrugged at Ginny, "We could always head out? Have some lunch, see the sights?"

Ginny smiled, "That sounds perfect. Now," She gestured down at her bright green robes, "I'm guessing I'm going to have to change out of these?"

* * *

 

They ate lunch at a pub tucked away off Broad Street and then set off for a few hours of wandering around the town centre. Hermione felt the keen joy of being able to show Oxford off to one of her oldest friends; Harry and Ron, for all their good intentions, hadn't yet made the trip. Hermione knew that their Auror training was taking its toll, and she was glad that they would be coming out to see the play, but she knew as well that their absence from her life had allowed her to put aside her differences with Blaise and Draco with much greater ease.

She considered this, chewing her lip as she waited for Ginny to choose a gift for Arthur in a small hardware shop. Hermione hadn't realised that she was staring into space until Ginny nudged her shoulder. "You in there?"

Hermione pulled a smile onto her face quickly, "Yes! Sorry, lots to think about." Ginny eyed her closely, "Yeah, well you haven't been massively forthcoming about all the  _ stuff _ you're thinking about in the past few weeks." She gave Hermione a small smile, "How would you feel about getting drunk and telling me all about it. And then," her eyes widened as what was clearly a terrible idea materialised, "Then we can go cloobing."

With an eye-roll Hermione grabbed Ginny's arm and pulled her out of the shop. "It's called  _ clubbing _ , and I'm quite certain both your boyfriend and your brother would be having strong words with me if they knew I'd taken you for a night on the tiles. But we can go and have a drink."

Ginny crowed with delight, startling some passing tourists as she did a little dance of glee, " _ Yesss _ , let's have a night on the tiles!" Then she, paused, frowning at Hermione with confusion, "Why will we be on the tiles exactly?"

Hermione had to stifle a snort of laughter, "It's just…what muggles say, I guess. Come on, let's go get a drink."

* * *

 

They installed themselves in a small cocktail bar that Hermione knew to be frequented by students, but not by cast members who might accidentally let slip something about Draco or Blaise before she'd had a chance to tell Ginny about them.

Ginny had raised a sceptical eyebrow when the Cosmopolitans Hermione had ordered arrived at their table. "Those look very…er…pink," she said, before taking a large glug and squinching her eyes shut. "Bloody hell!" She looked at Hermione in shock, "That's pretty powerful stuff!"

Hermione took a much smaller sip than Ginny's, and smiled, she hoped not  _ too  _ smugly, "Muggles may not have magic, but they are  _ very  _ good at alcohol."

"You're telling me," Ginny muttered, sipping more gingerly at her drink before setting it down on the table and fixing Hermione with a Meaningful Look. "So, what exactly is going on with you and this play, hmm?"

Hermione willed herself not to blush but could feel that she was failing miserably. "I…um…what?"

Ginny waggled a finger at her, "No no no. I'm not having that." She narrowed her eyes at Hermione, and jabbed the finger at her in an accusatory gesture. "You've gone all  _ coy _ in your letters, and I couldn't work it out, but then I realised that you don't talk about the other actors in this Other-low thing –"

"Othello." Hermione corrected without thinking, "And I DO talk about the others in the play, I've told you about Caroline, about Simon, and Ed and Holly the directors –"

Ginny waved off her interruption, "Yes, but there's the main guy, right, and this other one, this  _ baddie _ ? And you've barely said anything about them."

Hermione demurred, "I'm sure I must have said something…"

"Yes, you said they're both very good, and you mentioned something about finding the  _ bad  _ one very  _ annoying _ , which," Ginny let her serious air slip for a second and grinned, letting Hermione know how much she was enjoying making her squirm, " _ which _ , we both know means that he's getting under your skin."

Hermione ummed and shrugged and Ginny clapped her hands together, nearly upsetting both their glasses, "I KNEW it!" She leaned close, "Are you sleeping with him?"

This time around Hermione knew that she was hopeless against her own complexion, and didn't bother to hide the crimson that washed over her cheeks as she bit her lip and nodded. "Yes. Only…only just. But yes."

Ginny leaned back in her seat and sipped her Cosmopolitan, eyes sparkling. "Well then. Miss Granger. And how is it?"

Hermione couldn't help the little smile that grew on her mouth when she thought about how to answer that question. "It's…pretty great actually."

This was the time, she knew, to tell Ginny that there was a reason for her coyness in her letters, but before she could open her mouth to speak her friend fixed her with a stare that was, once again, serious, "You are being, you know, sensible, right?"

Hermione fought the urge to laugh at Ginny's attempt to be conscientious. "Yes. I had to sit through that afternoon with Madame Pomfrey an entire year before you, don't forget."

The afternoon in question was in her fifth year, when all the girls were rounded up and sent off to the Hospital Wing on some airy pretext, and then given a brisk, thorough, and somewhat bewildering lesson on contraceptive charms and potions. Hermione had always felt a vague sense of annoyance that the boys had not, apparently, had to do the same (she was sure that she would have heard about it if they had) but had often reflected that were the whole thing left to men they would have a great many more unplanned wizard pregnancies. She guessed that a lot of wizards just assumed this was something witches knew instinctively. Which was, of course, laughable.

She recalled, vividly, Madame Pomfrey giving them all a severe glare over the top of her glasses as she closed the thoroughly embarrassing two hours by explaining that they were being taught these things not as  _ encouragement  _ to go and test their new skills out, but rather so that they were prepared  _ just in case _ . "Forewarned is forearmed," she had intoned darkly; remembering it now, Hermione grinned helplessly into her drink.

Ginny, too, was smiling, "I'm so sorry to have brought it up. Just wanted to be sure, you know?"

Hermione nodded, "Of course. I haven't exactly made much use of the knowledge. Not since-" She stopped, remembering suddenly that Ginny was Ron's sister.

The other girl gave her a conspiratorial smile, "Don't worry." Her smile shrank, and she frowned slightly, "You know what, if I'm absolutely and completely honest, I was surprised that you and Ron were together as long as you were."

Hermione felt her eyebrows raise in surprise, even as she signalled to the waiter for another round of drinks. "Really? Why was that then?"

Ginny set her empty glass down on the table, "Please don't get me wrong, I can see why you would, you know,  _ happen _ . But," She pressed her lips together and frowned, seeming to try and formulate an answer that made sense, "It would have just been too neat, you know? The two of you ending up together, I mean."

The waiter set their refills down and flashed Hermione a smile, which she returned distractedly, "Why would it be too neat? I mean, I agree, we didn't make sense as a long-term thing, but…"

Ginny waved a hand in the air, "I guess. Well. Harry was seventeen, right, when he defeated Voldemort?" Hermione nodded in reply, and Ginny went on, "Well, so you guys had done this huge thing when you were  _ so young, _ why should the people you were and the relationships you had then define who you're going to be for the rest of your lives? Even if that does make for a more romantic ending."

Hermione felt her brow crease in concern, "Gin, is everything alright with Harry?"

Ginny's eyes widened and she swallowed quickly, nodding hard, "Of course! Never better, actually, but then I think that we're lucky, and we're also so different from the way we were a couple of years ago. It just happens to be a different that still works as a couple."

Hermione sat back in her chair, mulling over what Ginny had said. She had to tell her about Draco. All of that about not being the same person or having the same relationship for the rest of your life… _ surely  _ Ginny would understand? But then suddenly they were talking about the current Quidditch league gossip (apparently one of the Chasers for the Chudley Cannons was sleeping with the Keeper for the Tutshill Tornados which was causing all manner of chaos on the pitch) and Ginny started quizzing Hermione on her studies, which meant that they managed to chat their way through another three rounds of drinks, and suddenly it was ten o'clock and they were both incredibly giggly with vodka.

"Noooo," Ginny moaned as Hermione pulled her out of the door, waving to the friendly waiter, "We were going to go for a night on the  _ tiiiiiles _ ."

"Yeah, we were, but we got drunk instead." They both giggled as they made their way down the narrow streets that led back to Merton. By the time she got them both up the stairs to her room Hermione had sobered up somewhat from the sheer effort of having to support a drunken Ginny Weasley, but it still took her two tries with her keys. Merlin's beard, she really was living the student lifestyle, getting this drunk two nights in a row.

She finally got the door open and stepped through, turning to pull Ginny in behind her.

"Ah, Granger, there you are."

Hermione turned with a look of horror to see Draco sprawled on her bed, wearing a bemused expression as Ginny staggered through the door behind her. Ginny looked up at the sound of Draco's voice, then narrowed her eyes as she turned, swaying slightly, to ask, "Hermione, Why is Draco Malfoy in your bedroom?"


	13. This look will hurl my soul from heaven

 

Hermione's mouth went dry and she could feel herself swaying on her feet, frozen with surprise and dread. She should have told Ginny earlier. She should have told her without  _ bloody Draco right there _ . Ginny continued to look at her in mild confusion for a beat, and then she shrugged, dropped her purse on the floor, and turned back to Draco. "Whatever. I take it you're alive then. Hard to be sure after Matsumoto."

Silence followed her words, and Hermione's stomach did a strange swoop up to her throat, and then dropped to somewhere around her knees.  _ What on earth–  _ "What the hell are you on about?"

Draco had been staring at Ginny, his expression like that of a cornered animal, but now he turned his eyes to Hermione. He took a step towards her, but she backed away from him and he stopped, shoulders drooping as he dragged a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Granger," he said, "I just got permission to tell you today so –"

Ginny cut in, turning back to Hermione and nearly losing her balance, "You mean you don't know?" Draco caught Ginny's shoulder to steady her and Hermione noted that Ginny didn't recoil, just brushed him away. "Then WHY is Malfoy IN YOUR BEDROOM, Hermione?"

The anger rose up in her suddenly but forcefully as she opened her mouth, and she was nearly as surprised as the other two by the sound of it in her voice. "No. You don't get  _ any _ explanation until THE PAIR OF YOU tell me what's going on." Both of them gaped at her, and Hermione glowered back. "Well?"

Draco tugged at his hair, making it even messier than usual, and then blew out a sigh. "McGonagall is in charge of a covert group that's attached to the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but answerable only to the Minister. It's mostly comprised of young witches and wizards who were present at the Battle of Hogwarts. Ginny and I both work for them; she," Draco paused to glare at Ginny, "as a  _ volunteer _ , and me because it's part of my  _ rehabilitation _ . Our paths have…er…crossed a couple of times."

Ginny gave Hermione a sheepish smile as she picked up, "Malfoy saved my life in Sri Lanka about nine months ago, and then Harry and I worked with him chasing down an Oni in the Hotaka mountains in Jap-"

Hermione put out a hand to stop her, sinking into her armchair. "You and  _ Harry both  _ worked with  _ Draco _ to track down a demon?" Her voice shook slightly and she blinked furiously, determined not to cry. Draco made to step towards her again, his face concerned, but Hermione transferred her glare to him and he stopped.

"I'm sorry, Granger." He sighed again, "That meeting I had today was actually with McGonagall, and she said that I could tell you. That I  _ should  _ tell you. I only just got back so I didn't realise you'd have company." He eyeballed Ginny, who frowned back at him. Their face-off lacked the venom that Hermione remembered though, and she felt the hurt bubble up inside her, the raw and painful realization that they were telling the truth.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispered, directing the question at Ginny.

The other girl shook her head. "We couldn't, we can't tell anyone. It's the most important rule. The squad is secret because what we're doing…it's dangerous, and it's not always authorized by International Wizarding Law."

"And what  _ are _ you doing?"

It was Draco who answered, "Hunting Dark objects and Dark wizards. Voldemort's return to power opened the floodgates for them. Thousands of cursed objects on the markets; dormant spells coming back to life – you found that book in Duke Humfrey's, Hermione, that's the sort of thing the Seekers are dealing with every day."

Hermione blinked, "The Seekers?"

Ginny's shining cap of hair winked in the light as she nodded, "That's what we're called. It's easy to refer to in the hearing of others without raising suspicion."

Trying to digest all this information, Hermione shook her head slowly. "And you weren't allowed to tell me because I'm not a Seeker." She felt a sharp pang of something inside her, and realised that more than anything she was wounded at being excluded, both by her friends and by Professor McGonagall. "But you and Harry  _ knew  _ Draco was on our side all this time?"

Ginny glanced at Draco, frowning, "I mean, we're not exactly made up about it. But he did save my arse in Kataragama, and I guess McGonagall trusts him, so we do too." She finished speaking with a shrug, and then her frown deepened as she looked at Hermione "But if you didn't know any of this then that still doesn't explain why…" She trailed off, eyes widening, and her mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise. "The play." She transferred her stare to Draco, "You're the guy in the play." She swiveled her gaze back, " _ HERMIONE! _ "

Hermione flushed as she stood up, straightening her spine and glaring defiantly at Ginny. "What? You think you're the only one who can keep a bloody secret? I might not be one of your special little  _ Seeker Squad  _ but that doesn't mean I don't have my own life." She swayed slightly, felt suddenly lightheaded from the cocktails that they had drunk seemingly hours ago, though it couldn't have been more than thirty minutes since they'd left the bar. Draco moved before she was able to shy away, placing a hand on her arm, squeezing gently and holding her upright. Hermione felt herself relax at his touch, but then a wave of fury crashed over her and she slapped his hand away. "You  _ wanted  _ to tell me, did you? Well why DIDN'T you tell me, Draco?"

He raised his hands innocently, shaking his head, "I couldn't. Not this." His voice was serious, eyes bright and steady on hers. "I'm trying to show that I'm worthy of the trust that's been placed in me, and that means not betraying it. Not to Blaise, not to my mother; not even to you, Hermione, until McGonagall said I could."

Hermione could sense the urgent truth of his words, could feel herself forgiving him; but that little hurt, excluded part of her was still there, still reeling, and so she stepped back, crossing her arms. "Fine. I understand. But I want you to go now." Draco gave her a look of utter hopelessness, and for a moment Hermione's resolve wavered. Then she looked at Ginny, who was also wearing a helplessly contrite expression, and felt her anger harden. "Out. I mean it."

Draco dropped his hands and sighed. He started to step towards the door, but as he drew level with Hermione he surprised her, catching her chin in his hand and pressing his lips to hers firmly. Hermione heard Ginny gasp, but all her attention was on the spot on her forehead where Draco rested his, on the burning brand his lips had left on hers. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. And I'll go now. But we both know that you're going to forgive me for this Granger, so I'll see you soon." He ran his fingers quickly through her hair, kissed her again, and then slipped past her and out of the door.

The girls stood staring at one another in the ensuing silence, and Hermione raised a shaking hand to her mouth. Ginny's eyes were still comically wide as she said, "I mean,  _ now  _ I believe you."

Hermione dropped her hand and cast her a withering glance that was only slightly leavened by humour, "You're not out of the woods yet, and neither is  _ Harry _ ." She threw her hands up in mock despair, "I can't  _ believe  _ the pair of you! I've been agonizing over how to tell you about Draco and it turns out that you've been keeping him a secret for nearly a year!"

Ginny pursed her lips and gave Hermione a wry look, "To be fair, neither of us are fucking him."

Hermione gasped at the unexpected language, raised a finger to argue back, and then spoilt the whole effect by giggling. Ginny joined in, and soon the pair of them were laughing hopelessly in spite of themselves. Ginny was the first to recover, hiccoughing slightly as she wiped her eyes. "So, you and Malfoy, eh?"

Hermione nodded. "Me and Malfoy." She paused, "Are you going to tell Harry?"

Ginny shook her head, "No way. You don't get off that lightly. He should hear it from you. As," She gave Hermione a meaningful look, "should Ron."

Hermione groaned and buried her head in her lap before peeking up at Ginny through her hair. "How do you think he'll take it?"

Her friend shrugged, "Hard to say. He didn't want to join the Seekers so we haven't been able to tell him about the poster boy for character reform. But, you know," she bobbed her head side to side, "I think after Christmas he's finally accepted that the two of you aren't going to get back together, so…" she trailed off and spread her hands wide, "Who knows?"

Hermione sighed and sat back down in the armchair, curling her legs under her. Ginny lay down on the rug, basketing her hands over her chest as she gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "All fairness to Malfoy, I really do trust him when he says that he's changed. Even Harry admits that he's an asset to the Seekers."

Hermione nodded in agreement, then realised Ginny wouldn't be able to see her. "I trust him, definitely."

Grinning, Ginny turned to look at her, eyes twinkling, "So. Things are pretty great, hmm?"

The edges of Hermione's mouth quirked upwards of their own volition, "We just…I mean he's infuriating, but it just seems to – to make sense. To both of us."

Ginny nodded, which was probably quite difficult considering she was sprawled sideways on the floor. "I can see that, actually. I mean obviously it was a bit of a headfuck to have the two of you  _ kissing  _ in front of me, but," she took a deep breath, "You two, I don't know, you seem  _ right  _ together." She rolled to her back again, and they lapsed into a more comfortable quiet. Eventually Ginny asked, yawning, "What are you going to do on Sunday then?"

Hermione frowned in confusion. "Sunday?"

"Sunday. February 14th. Valentine's Day!" Ginny was practically yelping now, and Hermione felt a thrill of horror.

"It…I haven't…I mean this hasn't been going on that long and I…"

Ginny was sat up, shaking her head at Hermione's flailing. "It's okay. We'll go shopping tomorrow before your rehearsal and you can get him something." She paused, "That is, if you want to get him something."

Groaning, Hermione buried her head back in her lap. "I guess I have to just in case. But I've  _ no idea  _ what."

When she looked up, Ginny's eyes were twinkling. "Don't worry, I've got something in mind."


	14. My downright violence and storm

 

Hermione woke early the next morning - the immediate, irrevocable wakefulness where you know there is no chance of further sleep. Shrugging into an old jumper – maroon wool unraveling at the wrists, so stretched out that she didn't remember anymore whether the H stood for Hermione or Harry – she left Ginny snoring gently and unclasped the window, gripping the top of the frame, pulling herself out and onto the slim lintel. From there, it was simply a matter of clambering for a few ungainly moments until she was on the roof.

The dawn was still a soft smudge of violet-yellow above the squared edges and points of the skyline; the air sharp and crisp as an apple. A thin note rose into the pale light, the lonely voice of a siren from the ring-road. Hermione shivered, struck suddenly by the strange, almost wistful sense of another life.

This happened from time to time, those moments when she had the incipient feel of another Hermione, one who never received a green-inked letter; who went through school being brilliant but not remarkable; who buried herself in books and was never wrenched from them by wonderful, kind Harry Potter and sweet, sure Ron Weasley. Who always had to put the kettle on five minutes before she wanted tea. Who got cold waiting for trains that are electrified but somehow always delayed. Whose bags were too heavy and never large enough to carry all of her books. Who would marry a sweet, thin man with a timid smile and ink-stained hands. A man like her father; a good man whose goodness would never be tested, with whom she would live a small life that wouldn't ever really feel small.

Hermione knew that her life was already writ large, that the life of a Hermione without her Hogwarts letter wouldn't be enough to fill a single afternoon of the one that she was living. But still, the sense of exclusion was inescapable, and after the traumas of the past couple of weeks it was just that little too much to bear. Hermione gasped, feeling her throat thicken with tears even as a  _ whoosh  _ of magic ran up her spine.

"No no no no!" Hermione whispered. She could feel her fingers sparking on the roof, see the way that her tears glowed as they spilled. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, breath coming in sharp sobs, clouding thick and hot and white on the cold air.

Hermione's fists clenched, trying to hold onto the rising tide of energy. Only McGonagall was aware that her magic could do this, and Hermione knew even as the sparks on her fingers became flames that this was why she hadn't been recruited as a Seeker. Because she wasn't just a brilliant witch: her connection to magic was so instinctual that it took deep skill to keep her power in check, lest it run amok like the undirected magic of a child. Unlike juvenile magic, however, which usually manifested itself harmlessly, if mischievously, the results when Hermione's control lapsed had proved themselves…somewhat spectacular.

The first and only time that she had lost control of herself like this was over two years ago, after the fight with Ron, when she had shut herself in a room of the tent that Harry didn't know about and screamed herself hoarse, the magic spilling out of her in a torrent of heat and light, feeling as though it would never stop. She'd sealed the room afterwards, scared and shaken by (and a little proud of) the torched destruction of her secret, private bathroom.

There was something different about this - a private, selfish anger that burnt all the brighter for it. She clenched her fists again, trying to rein in the flood of raw energy.  _ But McGonagall could have  _ told _ you about the Seekers, even if she wasn't going to recruit you _ , said a nasty, peevish part of her mind, and Hermione felt herself waver on the edge of a complete loss of control.

Before she could tip over, however, a different kind of warmth pressed into her spine and two hands circled her wrists, strong fingers closing, squeezing the fragile bones tight. A shake started between her shoulder blades, gradually working its way down her body, the fire burning itself out and the magic coiling itself back into the hidden heart of her. Hermione inhaled deeply and opened her eyes. The whole sky burnt pink and orange; a bright, bloody dawn. Wisps of mist clung to the church spires, and a pair of red kites wheeled high above against the deep blue of the receding night.

Draco didn't move as the tremors subsided, his grip on her wrists relaxing only very slightly. He felt Hermione's long sigh, the way the tension bled from the taut line of her shoulders. He curled his nose into the nape of her neck, feeling the tickle of the soft hair there, trying not to betray his relief.

Perhaps the only lesson that he was grateful to his father for was that magic, pure magic, was a matter of instinct. This, his father had said, was what distinguished Pureblood wizards from all others – the natural ability to understand magic in its most basic, elemental forms, and wield it unflinchingly. He wouldn't call what he'd just done  _ wielding _ , exactly, but he knew that it was that magical instinct that had wrenched him from his bed, and had told him to simply grab Hermione and hold on to her as whatever the hell just happened burnt itself out.

He let his lips ghost over her skin, feeling the goosebumps rise against them. "Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire," he whispered, and felt her skin slip beneath his mouth as Hermione turned in his arms, twisting herself so that it was her lips against his. Draco could taste the fire and spark of powerful magic on her tongue, but he didn't fight as she pressed him back against the small, flat area of rooftop in the shadow of the chimney.

Her hands were careless but efficient, ripping at his t-shirt and pulling down the jeans he had hastily jumped into. Draco kicked them off, hoping they wouldn't fall off the roof as he tugged Hermione's remarkably intact jumper over her head. Beneath it she was wearing a white cotton top through which her small, dark nipples were just visible. Her hair fell around them like the bars of a shimmering cage as she bent her face to his again, and Draco pulled her pyjama bottoms off in one swift movement, the hot clash of their mouths driving him to urgency.

Hermione moaned and the sound shot through him like an electric current, turning him rock hard. Draco could feel her, slick and ready as she rubbed herself against his cock, and fitting his hands about her hips he lifted her slightly so that he could thrust himself deep into her. Hermione gave a little cry and dug her nails into the skin of his chest with such force that Draco knew it would bruise even if she hadn't broken the skin. All patience gone, driven by pure need, he lifted her again before bucking his hips to drive the two of them together.

Their mouths met again, breaths short, wet gasps against one another, teeth and flesh tangling in what would surely result in at least one fat lip later on. Hermione could feel the roiling magic burning just below her skin, but it was nothing to the burn of desire, nothing to the heat building down in the depths of her where – somewhere – she ended and Draco began. She wondered whether she might simply split in two and die in some sort of explosion of pleasure, and when she came it was with a little yelp, mouth leaving Draco's and trailing a shuddering exhale down his jaw to bite deeply into the curve of muscle that joined his neck and shoulder.

Draco made a sound like a cut-off howl that hovered between joy and pain, and his hips jerked once, twice, three times; before, with a rippling groan, he went still beneath her boneless, spent weight. For a minute or so they simply breathed together, the newly-risen sun cutting through the chill air. The fingers of Draco's right hand were fisted in Hermione's hair, though he couldn't remember grabbing it. Absently he rubbed her scalp, and felt her nuzzle against him before she raised herself up on her knees, breasts shifting enticingly beneath the cotton top that she had somehow managed to keep on.

She ran her fingers along the neat line where his collarbones drew together, straining as though to kiss beneath the hollow of his throat. In the pale yellow light his skin glowed like a pearl, dusted with fine, golden hair. Hermione was conscious of the softness of her body against his; all spare, taut muscle. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it before, how his body betrayed what he was– a hunter, a fighter. Hermione stared at her fingers as they traced the sharp contours of his torso, until finally Draco caught her hand and stilled it against him. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, she found the pale grey dancing with curiosity, and just a little mischief. "I told you you'd forgive me," he grinned, and then, in a more sombre voice, "What was that?"

Hermione dropped her chin and gathered herself for a second before meeting his gaze again. "It's…well… I mean, I'm not  _ entirely  _ sure. Dumbledore had a theory about ' _ raw magical potential _ ' but then he unfortunately…er…" she trailed off, eyeing Draco, whose cheeks had turned pink, though he didn't look away.

"He unfortunately…was murdered?" he offered, eventually.

The sigh felt as though it had dragged itself from somewhere below her ribs, and her shoulders sagged as it finally left her. "Yeah, but…that wasn't your fault."

Draco's mouth made a funny expression somewhere between a scowl and a smirk. "That's utter bullshit Granger, and you know it. I'm making a habit of admitting to my crimes, and I was very much a culpable party in Dumbledore's death." His gaze didn't falter, became a challenge that Hermione met silently. Some of the tightness in his face relaxed, and when his mouth twisted this time it was rueful. "So that's why you're not a Seeker?"

Hermione nodded, "That would be my guess. I can normally keep it in check, if I have enough to think about – books, research, you know,  _ distractions - _ " there was a flash of something wicked in her eyes and Draco felt his fingers twitch with renewed desire, but Hermione went on, "If I'm bored, or really, unexpectedly upset, well…you saw."

Draco frowned, "What about in Duke Humfrey's? What about the Battle of Hogwarts?! That must have been…"

It was Hermione's turn to give a rueful smirk, " _ Distracting, _ to say the least. In Duke Humfrey's...it doesn't really work when I'm terrified, just angry or, or  _ frustrated _ , mostly. It's why I've always studied so hard; why I need problems to solve, projects to work on. Hunting the Horcruxes with Harry and Ron –" she paused, wondering whether Draco knew all of that, but he didn't look confused so she went on, "I had something to think about, to focus my energy on, so in spite of the boredom I was sort of…carried through. For the most part anyway, I mean - " She felt herself starting to babble, "I nearly, when Bellatrix..." Hermione swallowed, "But I just knew,  _ I knew, _ I had to stay in control, and so then it was only the one time when we had this  _ really huge fight  _ and that, well, you saw, but I only told McGonagall and that's the only time before this that-"

Draco's brow creased, "Then how did Dumbledore know?"

Hermione gave him a dark look. "How did Dumbledore know anything? He just  _ did _ , sat me down in our first term, right after that bloody troll, and said I was to come to him if ever I found my magic getting  _ out of hand _ ."

Draco nodded slowly, his gaze on Hermione's and yet somehow also far away. She cocked her head and his focus returned, zeroing in on her. "It's funny," he said slowly, "There are some very interesting theories about muggle-born witches and wizards being researched in the Department of Mysteries at the moment." He regarded her in a way that managed somehow to be both lascivious and analytical. Hermione punished him by shifting  _ just so _ on top of him, and saw lust win out.

"I'm sure the theories are  _ fascinating _ , and I would be happy to discuss them with you at some length. But" she presses a soft kiss against his mouth, "Ginny is still asleep in my room and," another feather-light brush of her lips, "I promised her we'd go shopping before you and I have rehearsal this afternoon." She attempted to sit up, but Draco was quicker, catching her arm to pull her back down and roll her underneath him in the narrow space. The freckles on her shoulders looked like little flecks of melted chocolate in the winter sunlight, he thought, and he ran his tongue quickly over one golden curve before bringing his mouth to her ear, "Not so fast."


	15. Love doth mince this matter

****Saying goodbye to Ginny had been more of a wrench than Hermione had expected. It had been so good to see her friend; being able to completely relax with her as they browsed the shops that morning, knowing that there were (almost) no more secrets between the two of them. Ginny's eyes had been bright with tears as she hugged Hermione tightly, before turning to the fireplace. "See you in March for the performance!" she'd yelled over her shoulder, before throwing a handful of Floo powder into the flames and stepping into them.

Hermione's stomach had dropped slightly at the thought of Ginny's return next month, when both Harry and Ron would be in tow, and she would have to come clean to the two of them about her relationship with Draco. But, she reflected, as she made her way down Beaumont Street towards Worcester College for rehearsal, this thing with Draco was a _real thing_ . The past couple of days had shown that. Hermione pulled up short at the realization that it had only been two days – _two days_ – since their last rehearsal.

It seemed impossible that both Ginny and Narcissa's visits, and all the revelations that they had brought with them, had happened in the same 48-hour period. Somehow in the past week the connection between her and Draco had become so strong that she was as certain of it as she was of her friendships with Harry and Ron. Hermione knew, and had had it proven to her, that Draco would come running the moment he sensed any danger to her. Instinctively she was certain that the same held true for her: it was as though she could feel him even when he wasn't there, and were anything to seem wrong there would be nothing that could keep her from his side. And if she had needed any further proof of what existed between them, the fact that her magic, blazing out of control, had calmed at his touch was enough to show her that whatever they had was more than skin-deep.

She was lost so deeply in her thoughts that she nearly walked straight past Ed where he was stood by the gates to Worcester. "Hermione!" he called, his voice shattering her concentration and causing her to spin on her heel, startled, to find him grinning at her. "You were in a world of your own," Ed said, then his expression softened as he studied her, "Everything OK?" Hermione nodded, and then with a sinking feeling she realized that she and Blaise hadn't had a chance to rehearse the death scene at all, drunken antics notwithstanding.

She gave a shrug, "Yeah, I was just thinking about some stuff." She smiled sheepishly before continuing, "I'm really sorry, I just realized Blaise and I haven't had a chance to really go over the final scene, and I know that you said we'd rehearse it tomorrow but still…" she trailed off as Ed's smile widened again.

"Blaise might have said as much to me. And he also pointed out that tomorrow is Valentine's Day, which will _apparently_ ," he gave her a pointed look, "be somewhat busy for everyone."

Hermione arched an eyebrow and returned his gaze, careful to keep the rest of her face blank, "Is that so?"

Ed grinned and held up his hands, "Alright, woman of mystery. Anyway, Alan and Pia are overseeing the main rehearsal and focusing on the scenes without you and Blaise, and you're going to come back to mine and run that death scene until we've got it. It's just round the corner. Blaise and Holly are already there, and Draco and Caroline are going to come and join us in a bit."

"Draco and Caroline?" Hermione hoped that the squeak in her voice had only been audible to her.

"Yep," Ed said, setting off down Walton Street with a loping stride, "I thought they might provide some relief from you and Blaise and your chronic lack of chemistry."

"Hey!" Hermione yelped, half running to keep up with him, "That's hardly fair, we haven't had any problems with chemistry up until now!"

Ed cast a thoughtful look down at her as she jogged alongside him, though Hermione noted ruefully that he hadn't slowed down, "True. But the scene's lacking the necessary tension. We want the audience to half believe that he's going to chuck in the whole murder plan and just give you a good seeing-to instead." Hermione nearly tripped as she gaped up at him and Ed laughed, catching her arm to stop her falling. "Lighten up, it's student Shakespeare! If the audience don't spend most of their time thinking you're going to rip each other's clothes off we're doing it wrong."

She blew out a sigh, "If you say so…and you're alright with me and Blaise playing it like that?"

Ed gave a sharp bark of laughter, " _Dahling_. It's acting! Of course I'm alright with it! I'd rather be a little bit jealous of the two of you seeming to be on the cusp of a bonkathon and have the whole thing be a stupendous success than let it be a damp squib of a finale. Now," he turned off onto Worcester Place, "Here we are. Game face on, Granger."

Hermione grimaced, then tried to arrange her features into an expression that didn't look as though it belonged to someone approaching the gallows as she followed him through the front door of the student house.

* * *

 

"It is. TOO. LATE." Blaise roared, wrapping his hands around Hermione from behind, pressing a pillow to her face. It was the fifth time they'd run the scene, and everyone was getting a little bit frayed. Holly was chewing on a finger, her expression troubled. Ed was gnawing so hard on his lip that Hermione thought he was probably going to draw blood soon. Caroline, who had come in with Draco about ten minutes before, was frowning with such intensity that she must have been giving herself a headache and Draco…well, Draco was watching the pair of them with narrowed eyes, his expression calculating. Hermione didn't have a clue what he was thinking, but she was sure it wasn't good.

"Right…Okay…" Ed paced across the room, "It's definitely better than before, it's just, well…I believe everything you guys do right up to this point, but it's as though all of that love, all of that _heat_ just kind of deflates." He looked up, locking eyes first with Hermione, then Blaise, "It seems like you're just killing her because the script says to. I don't feel like Othello _wants_ Desdemona dead. That belief isn't coming across."

Now Blaise was frowning with concern, "I'm at a bit of a loss here, I'll admit."

Ed nodded distractedly, "Okay… Why don't we try something else, give you a bit of a breather from this." He picked up his copy of _Othello_ , which Hermione could see was so well-thumbed that it was almost falling apart. He flicked back through the pages, stopping about a quarter of the way through. There was a pause while the others watched him read, then Ed nodded to himself and looked up at them with a smile, "What about two, one, where Desdemona's waiting for Othello at the sea-port? Bit of witty repartee, a joyous reunion, should lighten things up a bit."

Hermione's shoulders sagged with relief, and she glanced at Blaise to see that his face reflected exactly what she was feeling. They shared a small smile, and Hermione felt herself relax a little. The scene would work out, she was sure. The problem was probably that she and Blaise got on too well: there was none of the tension, none of the incipient threat that had been there when Draco had read it with her. She looked over to where he stood in the corner to see that he was still watching her, though this time when their eyes met he gave her a small smile. She smiled back, feeling a clench low in her stomach as she watched Draco's eyes darken. The air between them seemed to thicken and Hermione felt her skin prickle with heat, then Ed stepped in between them, snapping his fingers. "Guys! Come on, act two, scene one, I'll read for Cassio, let's go!" He flourished his copy of the play, and winked at Draco before starting to read:

"Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,

That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding

That gives me this bold show of courtesy.'"

Ed snagged Caroline by the wrist and pulled her towards him, planting a kiss right on her mouth. Caroline giggled and blushed, perfectly in character as Emilia, and immediately the tension in the room dissolved. Hermione watched as the Iago mask fell over Draco's features, all of the quiet warmth disappearing behind an expression of pure disdain. When he spoke it was in a bored drawl:

"Sir, would she give you so much of her lips

As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,

You'll have enough."

He studied his fingernails as Hermione interceded, "Alas, she has no speech." Draco looked at her then, everything that she had come to love about him lost beneath the act, and it was everything that Hermione could do not to look away. As she listened to him speak the lines where Iago belittled his wife she marveled again at how good an actor Draco was, and wondered just how much of his spiteful, cruel persona at school had been a pretense. If he could affect it this easily, was it possible that he had been playing a role for much longer than he'd let on? The evening with Narcissa had been enough to show her that Draco's relationship with his parents had been (and continued to be) complicated, and Hermione had to ask herself whether things might have been very different if Draco's mischievous side had been allowed out much sooner.

"...Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds."

Draco finished up and flashed her a lecherous smile that was as delicious as it was repugnant, and Hermione smiled archly back at him, letting her tone turn playful, "O, fie upon thee, slanderer!"

Draco's eyes lit up, "Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play and go to bed to work."

He spread his hands to an imaginary audience, and Hermione struggled to hide her grin behind an expression of dismay as Caroline sniffed ("You shall not write my praise"), before stepping up and taking Draco's hand, letting him lead her across the stage area as though they paced the city walls: "What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?"

Draco let his face turn stricken, and placed his free hand against his heart, "O gentle lady, do not put me to't…"

They continued the scene, turning back and forth across the stage until Draco delivered Iago's final witticism – "To suckle fools and chronicle small beer."

Without thinking, Hermione swatted at him with her rolled up script, which was standing in for the fan the directors wanted Desdemona to carry, "O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor?"

She and Draco turned to Ed at the same time, to see him watching the two of them closely, a small line between his brows. When he spoke his voice was thoughtful, "He speaks home, madam." There was a pause as he closed his script. "Let's leave that one there for the time being. Hols, what did you think?"

Holly stood up, looking between Draco and Hermione. "I'd say that we have a bit of a problem when _Iago_ and Desdemona have better chemistry than _Othello_ and Desdemona."

Hermione blushed, and looked down at her feet. She heard Draco clear his throat beside her, and saw him shift his weight uneasily. Surprisingly, it was Caroline who spoke up first into the uncomfortable silence, "Well maybe you could work that into the play?" They all turned to look at her, and Caroline's cheeks turned pink, but she continued, "I mean, if Desdemona's flirting with Iago you could work it into that whole sort of…perverted sense of justice that he's got going on couldn't you?"

Ed's frown deepened, "Come again?"

"So he's setting Othello up to kill her because he thinks they _both_ deserve what's coming to them?" It was Blaise who had spoken, and his tone was thoughtful, eyes flicking between Draco and Hermione.

Holly nodded slowly, "That could work. It would certainly add a new angle to the story. What do you think?"

This last directed at Ed who was once again chewing his lip, though now more meditatively. "I like it." He smiled suddenly, "We've said from the beginning that we want to put a different spin on things; the whole 'Desdemona is a flirt' angle could actually really work. Although obviously you two," he gestured at Blaise and Hermione, "still have to get your final scene right. I think though," he narrowed his eyes, "That rather than Iago setting Desdemona up to die because he thinks she deserves it, we should play it that he sets her up to die because he's just as in love with her as Othello is."

Hermione and Draco glanced at one another involuntarily, and she was glad to see that for once he was blushing just as much as she was. Blaise sniggered, "I don't think Draco's going to have any problem _pretending_ to be in love with Granger."

Hermione choked and glared at him, but it was Draco who spoke up. "Obviously not." Ed gave a little snicker and Caroline made a noise that sounded like a suppressed shriek. Clearly deciding to throw caution to the winds, Draco looped an arm around Hermione's shoulders, drawing her into his side. "We just need to make sure that it's believable for her to have chosen _you_ over me, mate."

This last was directed at Blaise, who was grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling, "Oh, I'm sure I can prove myself equal to the challenge."

"Right then!" Holly clapped her hands together, tone businesslike. "If we could all stop making googly eyes at one another, I guess that we have a gameplan. As long as you're alright with it, Hermione?"

Looking up at Draco, Hermione felt a smile tug at the edge of her lips, "I think I can work with it." He smiled down at her, that same small, shy smile that she had come to treasure, and her heart skipped. Reaching up, she caught his hand where it was draped over her shoulder and twined their fingers together. As she did, she felt a sudden warmth shoot up her arm, and before either of them could do anything a burst of white light enveloped their clasped hands, dazzling everyone in the room.

For a moment there was utter silence, and then Caroline piped up, "Um, guys? What _the hell_ just happened?"

 


	16. I am not what I am

Hermione's wand was in her hand barely before she'd drawn breath, and she fired off a silent stunning spell that split itself three ways in mid-air. Holly and Caroline slumped where they sat, but Blaise demonstrated surprisingly quick reflexes by leaping forward to catch Ed before he could fall. Once he'd set him down in a chair, Blaise looked up at the pair of them. "Not to parrot Caroline, but  _ what the hell _ ?"

With a shrug, Hermione extricated herself from Draco's arm, turning as she did to look at him. "I don't know what that was. Draco?"

He was staring fixedly at the ground, though Hermione got the distinct sense that he wasn't really looking at anything. When she repeated his name however he looked up, focussing his pale-grey gaze on her with startling intensity. "What did you say?"

Resisting the temptation to huff with annoyance, or to point out that three of their friends were currently lying stunned and they really needed to come up with a plan of action, Hermione settled for raising a sardonic eyebrow at him. "Do you have any idea what just happened?"

Something flickered in Draco's gaze, and he tipped his head to one side. "It's nothing I've seen before."

Hermione was aware that he hadn't really answered her question, and frowned slightly at him so that he knew he hadn't got away with it, but turned back to Blaise. "I guess the answer is we don't know."

Blaise's mouth set in a line that said he knew that neither of them was being entirely truthful, but wasn't going to push it. "OK…so what are we going to do about  _ this  _ little situation?" He drew a circle with his finger that, though small, served perfectly to take in the whole room and its three unconscious inhabitants.

Hermione shifted her weight uneasily, "I guess we have to obliviate them." She saw Blaise wince, "Unless you want to tell Ed the truth?"

He grimaced slightly, "I…well. You should probably know. I might have already told him. About me. Not you guys."

Hermione felt her mouth gape open with disbelief, and didn't have to look at Draco to know that he would be echoing her expression. "You…what?"

Draco's voice was chilly, "Don't you think that's maybe moving a little fast?"

Blaise's handsome features twisted into a sneer, and Hermione was thrown back to the first day of their sixth year at Hogwarts, when Professor Slughorn had invited her to join the Slug Club. But the expression was aimed at Draco rather than her, which took some of the sting from the memory. The scathing tone of Blaise's voice when he spoke was exactly as she recalled, however, and she was almost comforted that it wasn't directed at her, "Yeah, because you're really one to talk about  _ moving fast _ , Draco Malfoy."

Two little spots of pink appeared high on Draco's cheeks, though the tip of his nose remained almost white. He opened his mouth to speak but Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "Stop it," she commanded, and Draco closed his mouth with a snap, though he still levelled a glare at his friend. Hermione stepped between the two of them, eyes fixed on Blaise. "It goes for you too, you know. This gets us nowhere."

He gave a half-hearted shrug, "I know. But I'd rather not obliviate Ed, if you two are alright with him knowing the truth."

Hermione looked at Draco, who sighed, but gave a little nod. "I guess we'll trust you to trust him. But what about the others?"

All three of them looked at where Holly and Caroline were slumped on the sofa. Hermione bit her lip, "The thing is…I don't want to tell them and it go badly. Obliviation is harder the bigger the thing you're trying to forget…" she trailed off, recalling the horror of removing herself from her parents' memories. She drew a breath and looked between Blaise and Draco, "I think it's best they don't remember this."

Blaise gave a sharp nod. "Alright then. But can we wake Ed up and bring him up to speed before we wake the girls?"

"Of course," Hermione said, aware of Draco's eyes on her. She wondered whether he knew about the measures that she had taken to protect her parents, and concluded that though he seemed to enjoy a reasonably amicable relationship with Ginny at least, it was hardly the sort of thing to come up in casual conversation. When she looked at him he quirked an eyebrow in silent enquiry, and Hermione shook her head. "Later," she mouthed, before turning her attention to where Blaise had knelt down beside Ed.

He placed his wand-tip gently against Ed's chest and whispered " _ Enervate _ ."

He came to with a gasp, blinking in confusion as he took in the three of them staring at him. Finally Ed seemed to focus on Blaise, and frowned slightly, "Them too, eh? What are you lot, the Oxford Wizarding Society?"

Hermione had to stifle her laugh, and it was only upon seeing Blaise's face relax into a smile that she realised how worried he had been about Ed's reaction. Pulling himself upright in the chair, Ed frowned slightly, "Which one of you knocked me out?"

"Guilty." Hermione raised a sheepish hand, "Sorry about that."

Ed shook his head slowly, "Is my life going to be like this now?" He looked at Blaise, "Do your magical friends often knock out murgles?"

Hermione hid her smile behind her hand, and when she looked at Draco she could see from his studiously blank face that he too was trying not to laugh. Blaise meanwhile was grinning openly at Ed, "It's  _ muggles _ . And no, generally they only do it when something inexplicable happens and they need time to figure out either a good cover story or," he paused and winced slightly, "work a memory charm."

Ed gaped at him, then turned to look at Hermione and Draco. "He isn't joking is he?" Hermione shook her head and Ed sighed, "Well I guess you don't have much choice if you don't want to tell them the truth…" He trailed off, frowning, "So I take it you two don't set off some sort of magical camera flash every time you…you know?"

Hermione blushed scarlet, "No, no, I…don't know what that was." She met Ed's eyes, uncaring of the ferocity of her glare "You  _ will _ keep it a secret, all of it, I mean?"

Ed's customary smile returned as he glanced at Blaise, "Well, it's a big secret to keep. But I'd say it was worth it."

* * *

 

Once they had obliviated the girls and both Holly and Caroline had left, feeling tired and a little foggy ("Probably a cold, they're going around," Hermione had nodded sympathetically as she saw them out) the four of them stood and took stock.

"Well," Ed said finally, "It could really have been much worse." He looked up to find the other three staring at him, and laughed, "Well I mean, you only had to modify two memories, no-one got hurt, nothing got damaged…" he trailed off, "Things don't very often get damaged, right?"

Blaise slipped an arm round his waist and leant affectionately against him, "No, they don't. At least, they haven't for a while now."

"Well," Draco said, as Ed frowned slightly at Blaise, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I am done with rehearsal. Hermione?" Hermione nodded silently, her eyes on their entwined hands. Nothing else seemed to be happening, and she was inclined to think that it was a one-off, left over from the morning, except for Draco's shiftiness earlier. "OK then," Draco continued, "I guess there's no problem with us apparating out of here. Blaise, you're staying?"

The other boy nodded, and Ed had just asked, "What's 'appearating'?" when Hermione felt the familiar tug as Draco disapparated the pair of them.

* * *

 

They arrived in the darkness of her room, illuminated only by the faintest moonlight. Draco flicked his wand without even looking, and the lamps immediately bathed the room in a warm glow. Hermione sighed and shivered, feeling drained by the long day.

"Hey," Draco whispered, drawing his finger over her temple, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she smiled, "Just a tough day."

Draco frowned slightly, "Yeah, about that. What is it about obliviation that you don't like? Is it because of the whole Lockhart thing?"

Hermione gave a sharp bark of laughter, then clapped her hand over her mouth as Draco's brows jumped in surprise, "No, gosh, I'd almost forgotten about Lockhart completely, poor man." She sobered, and sighed again, "Before I went off with Harry and Ron to search for Voldemort's horcruxes I, er…I…" She bit her lip, and felt herself tearing up at the memory.

"You what, Hermione?" Draco's voice was calm, but she could hear a worried urgency beneath it.

"I…well…I obliviated my parents. I made sure they had no memory of me, then planted false memories so that they would move to Australia, and be out of the way of anything that Voldemort might decide to try."

Draco gaped at her, "That – that must have been awful. But you reversed it, right? After he was defeated?"

Hermione nodded and gave a sniff, "Yes, I did, but…even though I'd kept the memories like Professor McGonagall showed me…sometimes when I'm home I'll catch one of them looking at me as though they're not sure who I am, or what I'm doing there. They talk about going back to Australia, and I think sometimes they don't know why they came back to England." She paused, wary of her voice breaking, and looked up at Draco through unshed tears, "I did it to keep them safe, and I'd do it again, but they'll never be the same. And I can't tell anyone because it's my fault!"

Draco shushed her, gathering her into his arms and stroking his fingers through her hair. Hermione felt a sob leave her with a shudder, and pressed her face into the soft cotton of his shirt. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I feel stupid. I just don't know how to make them better, and I feel guilty sometimes for even trying to make them remember."

Abruptly, Draco drew back, holding her by the shoulders and gazing at Hermione with raw intensity, "It isn't your fault. You were right earlier – anything smaller than a tiny memory-charm is hugely powerful, complex magic, and even when performed well it leaves a mark. And they're your parents, Hermione, of course you would want them to remember you, you can't feel guilty for that." He paused, wiping a tear from her cheek, "Have you taken them to be seen at St Mungo's?"

Hermione shook her head: "I've been waiting to see if they'll get better on their own. But I think if there isn't much change soon then I might. They're coming to see the play on closing night, so I guess I'll try and decide after that." She gave Draco a watery smile, which he answered with a soft kiss.

Melting into the comfort and familiarity of him, Hermione had almost forgotten about the strange flash of magic that had caused all of the fuss. Suddenly remembering, she pushed him off slightly more forcefully than she had perhaps meant to. Draco staggered in surprise, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Hermione said slowly, "But I want you to tell me what you think happened earlier." Draco winced, and she knew straight away that he thought he had successfully distracted her. "I'm not joking," Hermione said, sitting down on the bed and crossing her arms to prove her point, glaring at Draco expectantly.

He blew out a sigh, and pushed his hands through his hair in what had already become a familiar gesture. "Well, firstly I'm not sure. But if I'm right, then you're not going to like it."

Hermione felt her eyebrow rising up her forehead, and saw Draco register it and wince. "I think…I think the easiest thing would be just to see…" He eyed her warily, "You can cast a corporeal Patronus, right?"

It was as though ice had slipped down her back. "Yes. Why?"

Draco bit his lip, "What form does it usually take?"

"An otter." Hermione paused, "You think that might have been…?" Draco nodded and she felt her stomach drop. She knew this sort of thing could happen, but it hadn't even occurred to her.

"Well you've seen mine," Draco's tone was tentative "So, do you think we could try casting them now and see?" When she met his gaze Hermione could see the worry in his face.

She nodded, summoning a smile onto her face, "We should try it. Although, I'm probably not in the best state…"

Draco kept his eyes on her as she stood and drew her wand. Hermione swallowed nervously and closed her eyes. " _ Expecto Patronum! _ " When she cracked one eye open, she saw the last remnants of silvery mist dissipating into the air. Draco's face was impassive, watching her as Hermione shook herself, and closed her eyes again. She thought back to that morning, to the look of Draco's hair, touched by the dawn, the feel of him against her. That shooting pain of happiness that had gone through her when he'd all but declared himself in love with her in rehearsal. She felt a tingling in her fingers, and this time as she cast the charm the blaze of warmth down her arm told her it had worked before she even opened her eyes.

At first, she thought nothing had changed. The silver shape of her Patronus glowed so brightly she could only look at it from the corner of her eye, and so the general outline seemed roughly the same. However, as the initial flare of the spell faded Hermione could see with sickening certainty that her Patronus now had pointed ears, and a fluffy tail. An arctic fox.

She frowned, looking between it and Draco. "But I thought yours was…"

He frowned too, then lifted his wand, " _ Expecto Patronum _ !"

The silvery magic uncoiled from the end of Draco's wand, seeming to wind itself around Hermione's Patronus, before coalescing into the same shape. Slightly bigger, but indubitably an arctic fox rather than the red fox that it had been before. The two Patronuses nosed at one another, and then both turned to look at their casters, before dissolving into the air.

Draco and Hermione looked at one another, stunned. It was Hermione who spoke first, "Well I guess we're stuck with each other then."


	17. And often did beguile her

Hermione's words hovered on the air between them, seeming to linger like the charge of the magic that hadn't quite dissipated. Draco raised his eyes to hers, face frozen as he asked, "You're not angry?"

She frowned, "Why would I be?" A slight pause, and she took in the tight line of his mouth, the stiffness of his shoulders, and his white-knuckled grip on his wand. "Draco. Why would I be angry? Why are you angry?"

"I'm not-" He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before stepping towards her. Something in his eyes softened as he raised a hand to trace across her collarbone. "I'm not angry. It's just…I've never heard of two patronuses changing like this." He grazed his knuckles lightly down her arm, gaze following the progress of his fingers over her freckled flesh. "To be completely honest with you, I didn't know that they could."

Hermione pursed her lips, "Well, I've never heard of it either, if it's any consolation." She paused, her mind working: "But then again, I've not really researched Patronuses beyond the initial incantation." The idea of it… a magic so ancient, so little understood… but that was a question for another day.

She turned her hand to skate her fingers over the barely visible Dark Mark on his forearm, its silvery lines the faintest glint on his skin in the low lamplight. "I do know that you can't cast a patronus if…" She trailed off, hand flattening over the Mark, as much a caress as to hide it.

Though Draco's mouth was still tight, the corner lifted slightly into a mocking smile as he followed her eyes down, "If you're a dark wizard." He blew out a sigh, raising his other hand to curl his fingers in her hair and letting his thumb move absently along her temple. "I guess I was just so…so relieved to have a tangible sign that I wasn't… _ poisonous _ ." His eyes were very faraway, their colour seeming momentarily bleak, and Hermione felt an ache inside her for everything that he'd lost, everything he was trying to rebuild about himself. She slipped her arms around his waist, and pressed herself against his lean body, even as he continued, "It's strange to see it become a sign of something else as well."

Hermione tucked her head beneath his chin so as not to have to look at his face as she asked, "Are you scared of what it might be a sign of?" Even as she spoke, she wanted to bite back the plaintive note in her own voice, knowing that he would have heard it too.

But Draco had wound his arms around her, and when he spoke his lips moved against her hair, "Terrified. But also," he paused and stepped back, tipping her chin up so that she was forced to meet his gaze as he looked down at her. The warmth had come back into his eyes, and they were as grey-blue as a winter sky. Hermione felt a strange, vertiginous shift, as though she could fall upwards into them. Draco brought his lips down to hover above hers as he continued, "It makes me happier than I ever thought I could be."

When he kissed her it was gentle, almost hesitant, as though he were asking her a question without words. Hermione kissed back hungrily, trying to answer him with everything that she was, because even without the proof of their matched Patronuses she had already known that she was his. She felt it like an instinct somewhere deep inside herself - perhaps in that same wild place where her magic lived – solid and unarguable, the fact of their belonging.

And it wasn't just that she was his, but that he was hers also. Hermione clenched her fingers slightly where they were looped around his back, nails digging into his skin as though she could mark that possession upon him. Draco's breath hissed in her ear, right before he bit the lobe. Hermione arched into him and heard him snicker, feeling warmth flood her at the sound.

There it was, she thought to herself, even as Draco moved his mouth to her neck and his fingers slid low to the buttons of her jeans. There was something in Draco that strived for the light even against all the darkness within him, and somehow that dark edge anchored the power, the brightness, that threatened at times to overwhelm her. She tried, while her brain was still working, before he had managed to undo her trousers, to compare the way she felt about Draco to the way that she had felt about Ron, or Viktor, or any of the dalliances in between them, but nothing came close.

That was the thought, as Draco finally succeeded in getting her jeans down over her hips, as he backed her against the wall, as she twisted her neck and claimed his mouth with her own, as the salt taste of his blood from a bitten lip coated her tongue –  _ nothing else came close _ .

* * *

 

The light on her face the next morning was horribly unwelcome, and Hermione curled away from it, burrowing herself down into the duvet as the first hint of aching exhaustion echoed through her. Her hunger for Draco seemed only to be matched by his for her, and they had kept each other awake long into the night as they worked to sate it. Hermione flattened her hand against the empty space in the bed beside her, and nearly growled her annoyance. Waking to an empty bed was something that she was rapidly becoming unused to, and she sat up in frustration, vaguely aware of the tangled cloud of her hair wafting around her head.

A chuckle came from the other side of the room, and she turned to see Draco slouched in her armchair, a book in hand, bare feet resting on the coffee table alongside two polystyrene cups and a paper bag that Hermione's empty stomach very much hoped contained croissants. She almost purred in approval, rising from the bed with the duvet clutched around her as a makeshift garment, and leant across the table to plant a soft kiss on Draco's smiling mouth.

His eyes remained closed when she pulled back, lips still quirked upwards at the edges. "Mmm," he hummed, "Happy Valentine's Day Granger."

Hermione paused where she had been about to take a sip of her coffee, and turned her head slightly to hide her smile, "It's a ridiculous holiday."

She heard the laughter in his voice, "It's an important, ancient festival, as well you know."

She widened her eyes at him, affecting an innocent expression. "Shall we head out into the woods and sacrifice a goat then?"

This time Draco didn't bother hiding his laughter, pushing himself out of the chair and stepping behind her to kiss the back of her head, before reaching around her for the other coffee. "Maybe not today. But I do have an outing planned, if you're up for it?"

There was something in his question, a slight hesitation that made Hermione turn and look up at him. Draco's smile was genuine, if a little nervous, his eyebrows quirked slightly as he awaited her answer. Affecting nonchalance Hermione shrugged and bit into a croissant. "I'll have to cancel on my other suitors, but I guess that'll be fine."

Draco pretended to pout at her, but really all it achieved was to make his mouth look more tempting than the croissant. Hermione pushed herself up onto her knees to kiss him but he pulled back, dropping her book into the armchair and hopping across the room to pull his shoes on. "No more of that for you, we're on a schedule. Meet me on Magpie Lane in an hour."

Hermione had barely opened her mouth to reply when the door crashed shut behind him, and she was left to frown at the half-eaten croissant in her hand. She glanced at the book abandoned in the armchair: her mother's old, crack-spined copy of  _ Great Expectations.  _ Hermione smiled to herself, stuffed the last of the croissant in her mouth and whirled to get dressed.

* * *

 

As it had turned out, an hour had been barely enough time to make her hair behave, shimmy into some of the items that she had purchased under Ginny's watchful eye, and apply a little make-up. Draco had provided no details whatsoever as to what they would be doing, so Hermione opted to wear biker boots with her denim skirt and top, shrugging into a coat and pulling on a knitted beanie. It was cold outside and she preferred to be practical, just in case. If Draco wanted some sort of bombshell outfit then he would have to give her better warning.

The bitter chill insinuated itself into the gap between her collar and her hat in any case as she exited the Merton grounds, the wind whistling out of the narrow alley where Draco was waiting. Though the winter sun was bright the lane was still shadowy and Hermione shivered slightly as she strode up to where he waited by one of the rough stone walls.

Draco's cheeks were flushed with the cold, his eyes glittering as he looked at her, and Hermione forgot everything else beneath the warmth of his gaze. "Hi", she said, smiling up at him.

"Hi yourself," he murmured, bending to give her a light peck on the mouth. He brought his arm up to rest it across her shoulders, and turned Hermione to face the wall that he had been leaning against.

She looked up at him, confused, as he pulled out his wand. "What are you doing?"

Draco flashed her a grin, "Just wait."

He tapped wordlessly at a large stone set in the wall, marked with cross and the initials 'J S B', and Hermione had to snap her mouth closed as black liquid began to seep from the bottom of the stone, spreading out and running downwards and outwards across the bricks to pool on the pavement until it had formed what looked like a low, dark doorway. It opened onto a short tunnel, and peering in Hermione could see that at the other end was another narrow street. She turned to stare at Draco, "What's 'JSB'?"

"Jeremiah Streiter Black. An ancestor on my mother's side who was at New Inn in the 1800s." He grinned at her surprise, "You did know that the Wizengamot faculty of Jurisprudence was based in Oxford until 1902, right?"

Hermione flushed a little at the tease, "Of course I did, I just…" Pureblood pride and rivalries had grown hugely over the course of the nineteenth century, and it had taken her by surprise to learn that one of Draco's ancestors might have condescended to come and learn in the midst of Muggles during that fraught period.

Draco's grin only widened as he witnessed her discomfort. "Granger, I did say one of my ancestors on my mother's side. You wouldn't have caught a Malfoy  _ dead _ among the Muggles, no matter how learned they might have been." A flicker of something in his face, "Believe me when I say most of them are turning in their graves at my being here."

She swatted at his arm to dispel the whisper of sorrow that had crept up on them, and his smile blazed again as he caught her hand and pulled her through the narrow portico behind him.

A quick scurry through the shadowed passageway (cold and smelling of old, damp stone and old damp magic) and they emerged back into the watery sunshine. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see no hint of a doorway - nothing but an old wall; blackened stones and an initialled square; the twin of the one in Magpie Lane. As Draco tugged her forward she turned to look up the street ahead of them and realised that they must be in London, somewhere among the press of houses to the east of Spitalfields if she wasn't mistaken.

This street too was deserted, and they had only gone a few steps before Draco was turning into a doorway and producing a set of keys from inside his jacket. As he inserted one into the lock he turned and smiled at her, "This is just a pit-stop, but I wanted to show it to you." The oxblood-red door swung open soundlessly, and without another word Draco drew her inside.


	18. Chapter 18

Hermione felt the tug of strong warding magic like an itch beneath her skin as they crossed the threshold, and briefly she wondered just how much protection the house was under. She was pulled up short, however, as Draco led her into the drawing room and her breath left her in a gasp.

It was beautiful: the walls were painted a deep emerald green, with pale panels edged in silver where numerous artworks of various ages and styles hung in tasteful frames. The floor was of varnished parquet but showed the wear of many years of feet between Persian rugs. The furniture was a riot of antiques, though spare enough not to crowd the large, unexpectedly sunny room. Of course there was upholstery of the expected black and green, but also lighter colours – blues, yellows, and even the occasional flash of red.

An entire wall was taken up by bookshelves of dark wood, housing a mixture of  _ objets d'art _ and a higgledy-piggledy collection of leather-bound spellbooks. Hermione turned to Draco, her expression rapt, "What is this place?"

His face was lit with joy at her evident delight, and he grinned as he told her, "It belonged to my mother's Uncle Alphard. He was a bit of a collector, as you can no doubt see, but he left the house and everything in it to her when he died in the seventies." His eyes skated across the gorgeous room, "I think Mother was his favourite, even if he didn't approve of her choice of husband."

Hermione smiled quizzically, "How do you know he didn't approve?"

Draco's laugh was soft, "Because the conditions of it being left to her involved taking an Unbreakable Vow to Alphard before he died that she would never let my father know about it."

Eyebrows pinching together, Hermione asked, "I didn't know an Unbreakable Vow could extend beyond the death of one of the concerned parties."

Draco made a little grimace, though his eyes sparkled: "It's a slightly darker ritual than the one you probably know." He grinned at the expression of naked curiosity on her face, before continuing, "My mother had to swear on the blood of her unborn children. And seal it with the blood of her house. So, you know, her blood."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, "That's horrible."

Draco's eyes drifted past her face, moving round the many lovely things that filled the room, "We're a traditional family. And Alphard apparently felt it was necessary."

She nibbled gently on her lip, "I felt the wards. But they weren't...I would expect something like that to feel more...hostile."

Draco grinned, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes, "Old magic tends to be somewhat old fashioned, so the fact that you and I...the house recognises you." He trailed off, and smoothed his thumb across her knuckles, laughing at her expression before once again pulling on her arm, "Come on, there's more that I'd like you to see."

They exited back into the dimly lit hallway and ascended a narrow, uneven staircase that wound up the back wall of the house. When they had passed the first floor and reached the second, Draco drew her into a sunny room overlooking the street and the imposing white spire of the nearby church. Beneath the window was a large desk, whose many compartments were overflowing with magical paraphernalia. The walls either side of the window were once again dominated by bookshelves, which extended around three quarters of the room. It was the wall opposite the door, however, that took Hermione's breath away.

It was covered completely in a tapestry not unlike the one at Grimmauld Place, with a great family tree spreading across it. Unlike the heavy, forest-green thing that Sirius had so hated, however, this was a large piece of cream-coloured silk, and elegant lines of green curled across it beneath the  _ Toujours Pur  _ motto, connecting the intricately embroidered portraits that covered it. Covered it, Hermione realised – no scorchmarks here. She let her eyes roam across it with delight, realising that while it faithfully represented the names of all members of the Black family, only some were rendered in portraits – their faces smiling, and almost invariably connected to names and faces that she knew.

Draco's face was there, features relaxed into that soft smile that Hermione had come to think of as belonging to her. She let her eyes drift upward, seeing Narcissa and Andromeda, who was linked, to Hermione's surprise, to a depiction of Ted's kind face; Tonks and Lupin were both below, and Teddy too. Hermione smiled sadly at the sight, even as she noted that for Bellatrix and Lucius there were only small, simply embroidered names.

"Sirius had one like it," she whispered, "But this - this is quite different."

"Mother said Alphard spelled it to show only those who 'kept the faith', though she's never really elaborated on what he meant," Draco frowned slightly, "Obviously nothing to do with blood purity. I'm pretty sure that this is the reason he didn't want my father coming here."

Hermione could feel the magic pulsing off the thing, calling to the singing power in her veins. It was a wonder of spellwork: she could sense a number of truth spells, an ancient fidelity charm that she had come across in a book on pagan rituals, and what she thought could possibly be the  _ Galahadrius _ , the legendary charm used to test for purity of heart. Draco's eyebrows quirked when she pointed it out to him, and he examined the tapestry with renewed interest. Hermione however was distracted from the magic as her eyes caught upon the name Potter, and with a smile she traced the swirling lines that linked Dorea and Charlus Potter to James, Lily, and then Harry Potter. "You and Harry are related!"

Draco's eyes were narrowed when he looked at her, "Distantly. We're not about to start going on cosy little holidays together-" Hermione opened her mouth to interject and he caught her words with a kiss. "Seeker missions don't count as holidays, no matter how cosy they might be."

Hermione nearly snorted at the thought, "I don't think I want to know. But it is incredible though." She turned back, letting her eyes skate across the beautiful work. "It's the opposite of the one in Grimmauld Place."

Draco grimaced, "Yes, Mother has mentioned that one before. Is it true Aunt Walburga used to blast blood traitors off it?" At Hermione's mute nod he chuckled, "It's idiotic when you think about it. I mean, you only have to look at something like this to see that we  _ have _ to marry muggles. The level of inbreeding alone…we'd have died out years ago."

Hermione smiled slightly, remembering Ron saying something almost identical a long time ago, after Draco had called her… she nearly laughed at the irony of it when she recalled the situation fully: Draco practically spitting "filthy little mudblood" and the ensuing fury of the others. She turned to him as he stood beside her now, "Do you remember when you called me a mudblood for the first time?"

Draco's face was a mask of horror when he looked down at her, a red flush creeping up his neck. "Why would you ask me that?"

She reached up, and drew a finger to run it gently across the line of a brow, down one slicing cheekbone, and then lifted it to touch the bump that set the bridge of his pointed nose slightly wonky, a souvenir of its encounter with her fist in their third year. "Because I'm proud of how far we've come. And not just us," she gestured to the tapestry, "But the whole wizarding world."

Draco closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. "Sometimes I wonder if you're real; if this is real. I can't believe you could forgive so easily."

Hermione laughed even as she tilted her face up to his, "Who said anything about it being easy? It's taken me years." She paused, feeling the heat of his breath on her mouth before whispering, "But you  _ do _ deserve it Draco. Stars above, you deserve it."

His embrace was crushing, his lips on hers a force of nature, and Hermione felt her heartbeat begin to race, fisting her fingers in his t-shirt and moaning into his mouth. Draco made a throaty noise that sounded almost like a growl, and then with a fluid movement he grasped her by the shoulders, bent and swept her legs from beneath her to carry her across the landing to a sky-blue painted bedroom, where he threw her roughly onto the snow-white sheets of a gigantic bed. Hermione watched, thrilled and slightly intimidated, as Draco tugged his t-shirt off to reveal his chiselled torso. When he tossed the garment aside his eyes met hers with blistering intent, and he reached to pull her boots from her feet without breaking the contact, before climbing onto the bed, coming to rest above her.

He raked his eyes over her, predatory and possessive, and Hermione felt her magic spark in response to the challenge in his glare. She lifted her legs to lock her ankles around his hips, pressing the heat of herself against the hard outline of him, and then with her hand against his chest she  _ pushed _ , lifting them from the bed to flip in midair so that she landed astride him. Draco gasped and his pupils blew wide and black, leaving only the barest corona of silver. Hermione bent her head, kissing and nipping at the skin below his ear, before whispering, "What would you like me to do to you Draco?"

She was rewarded with his groan as he flexed his hips, driving himself up towards her through too many layers of clothing, hand fisting in her hair and pulling her face up to his. Hermione shook herself free of his grip and merely breathed her lips across his before dipping to lick at the hollow of his throat, wriggling down against him and moving her tongue across his chest to tease a nipple. Draco cursed softly and she snickered, "That didn't sound very pure of heart, Mr Malfoy."

She glanced a look up from unbuttoning his jeans in time to catch the impish grin that crossed his face, "Oh I'm not feeling pure of heart,  _ at all _ ."

* * *

 

 

Leaving Draco snoring in the bedroom, Hermione pulled on his t-shirt and slipped back across the landing to the study. The fine silk of the tapestry glimmered in the afternoon sunshine, and Hermione reached out a finger to stroke Draco's embroidered portrait. The delicate threads were soft beneath her finger, and she felt the magic surge and swell as she touched it. There was a spark and Hermione yelped and pulled her hand back, feeling as though she'd received a shock. Hermione looked at her fingers, almost expecting to see blood, but there was nothing. She looked back at the tapestry, and could have sworn that Draco's face was smirking slightly. "Alright Alphard," she breathed, "I won't touch."

She turned from the tapestry to instead peruse the bookshelves. Alphard had clearly had an excellent eye for rare spellbooks, and the shelves were lined with volumes of all shapes and sizes spanning thousands of years of magical history and topics from Arithmancy to magical zoology. There were also a number of muggle books, Hermione was surprised to see, and she grinned when her eyes fell upon the shelf full of Shakespeare volumes of varying ages and sizes. She ran her hand over them, enjoying the scent of the leather and the light background hum of magic coming from the house itself. Her hand stilled when she reached Othello, and she lifted the small volume from the shelf.

It was covered in tan-coloured leather that felt butter-soft in her hand, and when she opened the pages she could smell vanilla-y scent of the aged yellowed pages. Hermione flicked through, noting with wry amusement that someone had clearly used the volume to learn the part of Othello at some point - many of his lines were marked in pencil, although she was relieved to see no annotations, remembering how things had turned out when Harry followed somebody else's notes. She frowned at the thought, and her finger paused -  _ Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell. _

Hermione shivered involuntarily, and looked up to see that the sun had dipped below the rooftops of the houses opposite. In its absence the room seemed chilly, and she snapped the book shut in her hand. She went to replace it, but then something made her pause. The volume in her hand was giving off a very faint magic of its own, distinct from that of the house. Intrigued, Hermione flipped through the pages again, but could find nothing amiss. The buzz of energy was almost too low level to discern - certainly the book wasn't giving off dark magic like some of those that she had found hidden away in the libraries of the university. It couldn't hurt to investigate further, she decided, and so she took the book with her as she crossed the landing back to the bedroom, where Draco was still asleep. She left it on the bed before she removed Draco's t-shirt and stepped into the adjoining bathroom.

* * *

 

 

Hermione examined herself in the bathroom mirror, noting the flush in her cheeks and the purple-red of a lovebite on the underside of one breast. Draco had been thrilled to discover the dark green satin and black lace hidden beneath her casual outfit, and she smiled despite the lingering ache between her thighs. The girl in the mirror smiled too - another Hermione, a  _ mirror  _ Hermione, flushed and sated. She had braided her hair and it hung over one shoulder, longer than she'd ever been able to wear it during the war. The freshly washed tendrils that curled around her face gave her a look of innocence - but the girl in the mirror had eyes that had seen far too much for her youthful face.

The door opened behind her and she snapped out of her reverie to meet Draco's eyes in their joint reflection. He ran his gaze across her near-naked form, warm and still hungry despite the fact that they had just spent most of the day and previous night in bed together. She smiled as he dropped a kiss on the curve where her neck met her shoulder, then wound his arms around her, hand dipping to skim his fingers across the waistband of the lace knickers that were all she wore. He responded to her smile with one of his own, and mumbled gently into her neck, "Wonderful as you look, smell, taste  _ and  _ feel, I'm afraid that we will soon have guests and," he paused to flick a thumb over her nipple, "While I may prefer you naked, it would probably be more appropriate for you to be clothed."

Hermione spun in his arms to face him, "Guests?" He smiled crookedly down at her, and she swatted playfully at his bare chest, "What are you playing at Draco?"

"Nothing. Ed and I thought we'd treat you and Blaise to something special."

"You and Ed? What are we doing?"

Draco flicked his fingers in a silent Summoning spell, and Hermione would have been impressed by the piece of wandless magic if she hadn't been gaping at the tickets that had flown into his hand. "At the Opera? But I don't have anything to wear!"

He winced in answer, "How annoyed would you be if I told you I'd taken care of it?"

Hermione frowned, "That underwear was a one-off, you know. I'm not going to the Opera dressed up as some sort of Slytherin arm-candy."

Draco smiled like the cat that had got the cream, and Hermione felt her stomach lurch in response.


	19. Wonder great as my content

"Are we done with the public transport now, or are you determined to subject me to further torture? This suit is  _ silk _ , you know, it doesn't take well to the  _ horrors _ of the underground."

Blaise gave a great, theatrical shudder, watching Ed from the corner of his eye and wondering how much longer he could keep up the pretense of despair at all things muggle before Ed lost his patience. Judging by the smile tugging at his boyfriend's –  _ boyfriend's!  _ – mouth, he had some time left yet. To be entirely fair to himself the bus had been torturous after the initial ten minutes of novelty, but the Tube was always something of an adventure.

"Underground!" Blaise had exclaimed to Ed's faintly alarmed amusement, "Travelling around under the city like it's perfectly normal!"

He'd realised as soon as they got off at Liverpool Street and headed towards Spitalfields that Ed must be taking him to Draco's London house, but Blaise had decided to feign ignorance of their destination until they arrived outside it, waiting to see what Ed would do.

"Err," Ed said, forehead creasing in perplexity. "I think Draco might have given me the wrong address." He looked up and down the street, frown deepening as he counted the houses off, his hair glinting dark gold in the last of the afternoon sunshine. Blaise lifted a hand to run his fingers through it affectionately.

_ Merlin's beard,  _ he thought to himself as Ed turned to grin hopelessly at him,  _ I'm in trouble here _ .

"Ed, my darling," he drawled aloud, "Do you remember when I told you that I and my friends are wizards, and that you have a lot to learn?"

Ed's frown returned, though his smile stayed in place. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?"

Blaise grinned evilly in reply, twining his fingers with Ed's own and lifting their joined hands to point at the house in front of them. "Am I to assume that we're looking for Number Seven?"

He saw, and felt, Ed stiffen with surprise as (Blaise could only imagine, having never been subjected to a muggle-repelling charm) the house simply sprang into being in front of him, right in the space where numbers five and nine had just been seamlessly joined.

"Bloody…blimey." Ed whispered, his face rigid with shock.

Blaise pressed a kiss to the delightful little angle of bone where the edge of Ed's jaw flicked upwards. "Ready to enter your first wizarding house, love?"

Ed turned to him, eyes wide. "This is real, isn't it? It's really, actually not some mad delusion I'm having."

Blaise gave him a heavy-lidded stare from beneath his eyelashes, "If it seems like something out of a fantasy it's probably because I'm  _ fantastic _ ."

Ed gave a shout of laughter and shoved playfully against him, and Blaise caught his chin, pulling him in for a sweet, soft kiss, letting their faces rest together for a moment. "Real," he whispered, "Really, truly, real."

"Thank Christ," Ed breathed, "Although I'm thinking I'd rather be crazy and believe you're a wizard and have you, than not."

Blaise laughed, a loud, rich sound suffused with pure joy, echoing in the street as he pulled Ed forwards and knocked on the dark green front door.

Draco answered it himself, dressed in a charcoal suit and white shirt with a –  _ crimson?  _ – tie. "You found it then," he grinned, and Blaise rolled his eyes as Ed gasped next to him.

"You arsehole, Malfoy, you knew I wouldn't be able to find your bloody house!"

Draco shrugged, eyes gleaming with mischief as he beckoned them into the house, and Blaise reflected momentarily that he had never seen his friend so relaxed and at ease.

The wards itched and pulled unpleasantly at him as he stepped over the doorstep, and he glanced at Ed to see a small frown appear on his face. "Is there… is something buzzing?" his boyfriend asked, and Blaise saw Draco's eyebrows lift in surprise.

"The house is protected by magic," he said slowly, tipping his head so that his silvery hair fell over his eyes, "but I'm surprised that you can feel it…it would imply…" he trailed off, looking at Blaise, who met his gaze with a level stare of his own. After a moment's pause Draco smiled again, the small, pleased smile that Blaise knew wasn't a mask. "Congratulations mate. Come on, both of you, I'll get you some drinks, and Hermione should be down in just a second."

They followed him through to the parlour, where Ed let out a low whistle. "Where did you say your mum was queen of, again, Draco?"

Draco laughed softly, "Old wizarding families accumulate bits and bobs. Honestly, this," he gestured at the stuffed animals, curious oddments of furniture and suspiciously well-behaved portraits, "is nothing."

Ed turned slowly, taking everything in with his wonderful, curious gaze, and Blaise watched over his shoulder as the portraits came to life and whispered to one another as soon as Ed's eyes had moved on. He looked at Draco, who smiled conspiratorially at him, and Blaise felt an answering smile tugging at his lips.

Draco produced a bottle of Ogden's Silver Cauldron gin, mixing drinks with a dexterity born of playing nice at myriad cocktail parties hosted by his mother. He was just passing a tumbler to Blaise when Hermione entered the room, smiling bashfully and blushing when Ed let out a low whistle.

She was wearing a floor length gown of deep red silk, with a short train falling over the floor behind her. The neck was a wide slash, sitting directly on her collarbone, but as she stepped to give Draco a kiss Blaise saw that it was cut into a deep V at the back, exposing her shoulder blades and the valley of her spine. Her normally wild hair was drawn into a low, neat bun to emphasise the full effect of the gown.

Blaise glanced at Draco, who was looking at her with something approaching stupefaction, and decided to rescue his friend. He stepped towards Hermione, falling to his knees on the rug and clasping his hands in front of his chest, "If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy, for I fear my soul hath her content so absolute that no other comfort, like to this succeeds in unknown fate." He reached forward and caught her hand in his, pressing his lips to her knuckles as he fanned himself with his other hand. "Next time, Hermione dearest, give a man some warning, eh?"

She tipped her head back and laughed, bending forward to press a kiss to his cheek, and then pulling him to his feet and dropping his hand in order to give Ed a hug. "I can't believe you're taking us to the opera!"

Blaise spun and gave Ed a wounded glare, "And why have I not been informed of this yet?"

Ed rolled his eyes, "Because I haven't had a bloody chance!' He looked at Draco as though the still-speechless wizard would be any help, but obviously saw his mistake as he turned back and grinned sheepishly at Blaise, "Draco and I saw that the Verdi  _ Otello  _ was playing and we thought it might be, you know, nice?"

Struggling to contain his delight, Blaise batted his eyelashes coyly at Ed, "Oh, I think it will be very nice."

* * *

 

Hermione could feel Draco's eyes on her as she watched Blaise lean in to kiss a sweetly blushing Ed. The pair of them were adorable and she felt her heart swell with happiness for her new friends. Looking over her shoulder she moved her eyes up from Draco's tie, which she was fairly certain was the same silk as her dress, to meet his burning gaze and smiled darkly at him as she smoothed a hand down the front of her bodice, "Does it look as good as you imagined?"

He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers as he lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to her open palm, tongue flicking across the crease of her life line. She raised a questioning eyebrow and he smiled, before whispering " _ Even better, _ " and, drawing her arm over his shoulder, sealed his mouth to hers. When he broke away Hermione felt a momentary giddiness as the magic of the house seemed to go suddenly  _ taut _ \- she felt its pull on her own magic, humming close under the surface of her skin. Draco gave a sharp little gasp in her ear and she saw a warm, golden glow halo his face momentarily, before it faded into his skin. By his expression she was fairly sure he had seen the same around her, and she tipped her head.

"The House welcomes you." The voice made her jump, and from the yelp that came from behind her Hermione knew she wasn't the only one. The portrait behind Draco's head showed a wizard who reminded Hermione strongly of Sirius, with night-dark hair going silver at the temples and pale grey eyes that she realised were the same shade as Draco's. Looking between the two of them she was surprised that she had never realised that Draco's eyes came from the Black side of the family. The painted wizard smirked at her, and Hermione took a guess, "Alphard?"

He grinned wickedly, making Draco's ancestry all the more apparent. "The very same. I'm glad to see that my great-nephew has such good taste in witches."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, "Maybe this witch has good taste in wizards?"

Alphard chuckled, "Also a very valid argument. Either way, a good shot of Original Magic is just what these staid old families need, so welcome, Miss Granger."

She felt a frown start on her face at the strange wording, but before she could phrase the question she heard Ed come spluttering to life behind her, "That's...Hermione you're...she's...talking...the portrait..."

With a last look at Alphard, who merely gave her an enigmatic smile, Hermione turned to Ed, "Don't worry, I had to learn all of this too." At his questioning look she glanced at Blaise, who shrugged. "So I guess Blaise didn't tell you, but I'm muggle-born. My parents are completely non-magical."

Ed shot her a look of surprise, "But you seem so...you're practically a super-witch, right?"

Draco snorted behind her and Hermione jabbed her elbow into his ribs, simultaneously shooting Blaise a death-glare. "I'm a very diligent student." Suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of discussing her magic, she decided to change the subject, "But Draco is  _ supposed  _ to be teaching me how to drink like a witch of refinement, and then I hear we've got an appointment with Verdi?"

Laughing, Draco handed her a tumbler clinking with ice, and kissed her temple lightly. "I can attest to her diligence," he winked at Ed and Blaise, who chuckled as they sipped their own drinks. Draco's next words were a soft whisper in Hermione's ear, "I think we should have a look into Original Magic, don't you?"

She nodded, savouring the floral gin. "I think that would be a very good idea."

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly Draco had secured incredible seats at the Opera House, and after a quickly-cast translation spell the four of them were able to enjoy the drama to its full. Hermione felt her heart rise into her throat a few times, the power of the music somehow making the story that she had come to know so well seem like new. She glanced at Blaise a few times to see a rapt expression on his face, and somehow she was sure that the few scenes that they had been stuck on weren't going to be too much of a problem any more.

When Desdemona sang the Willow Song Hermione felt tears start to her eyes, and they remained coursing silently down her face as the music ascended to its climax through the fourth act. Draco's thumb rubbed gently back and forth across the the nub of bone at the top of her spine and she leant into him, reassured by his solid warmth and the way that her magic seemed calmed by his very proximity. She hadn't really been aware of it until that moment in his house earlier in the evening, but now she could feel her control, her balance, was steadied by him.  _ He'll catch me _ , she thought to herself, as the strings leapt to a crescendo and Othello smothered Desdemona.  _ If I fall, he won't let me break _ . And then,  _ Because he loves me _ .

She chanced another sideways look at Blaise to see that he and Ed had stopped paying attention to the stage entirely and were kissing enthusiastically, if quietly. Hermione blushed, and looked away, feeling Draco's chest rumble with laughter and looking up at him to see him smiling down at her. His expression sobered when he saw her tears, and he glanced at the stage before raising his hand to cup her cheek and wipe away the moisture. He leant down and kissed her gently, before whispering in her ear, "I know that this is a lot, after such a short time, but," he cast another quick look down at the stage, "I think it would kill me if I lost you."

Hermione nodded, understanding completely, "And I you." She took another peek at the pair behind her, "These things happen quickly for wizards, don't they?"

Draco nodded gently. "When you know, when you can feel it in your blood, in your  _ magic _ , that you've found the right person, well...that's it, basically."

Hermione smiled in spite of her tears, in spite of the disaster happening on the stage below them, in spite of the music swelling to a cacophony. "I think we know what happens from here. Should we slip out ahead of the crowd, do you think?" She wound her hands into the hair above Draco's shirt collar and looked at him from beneath her lashes.

His gaze darkened as he looked down at her, "I think that might be eminently sensible. After all," his mouth quirked into a smile, "My house likes you. I'm sure it would like to see you again before we have to go back to Oxford."

Blaise and Ed barely came up for air as they bid them a quick goodbye, and once they were out in the narrow corridor Draco took Hermione's hand and apparated them back to Spitalfields. Her heart beating fast from the side-along, Hermione barely had time to get her breath before he was sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her up the stairs to the bedroom. "Much as I  _ adore  _ you in this dress, Miss Granger," Draco growled as he stepped through the doorway, "I have to say that I am  _ even more _ enamoured of you  _ out  _ of it."

Hermione giggled, standing on tiptoe when he put her down, kissing him passionately as he undid the fastenings on her dress with a silent incantation, feeling the pleasant hum of the house's magic coursing around them as Draco backed her onto the bed. Hermione lay back and smiled lazily at him as he unbuttoned his shirt, and she saw Draco cock his head so that the soft light from the window seemed to hug the edge of his face as he purred, "So sweet was ne'er so fatal."

Raising herself up on her elbows, Hermione ran a hand down his chest as he leant over her, "Have not we affections and desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?" She pressed her lips to the hollow between his pectorals, moving her fingers lower and hearing Draco inhale sharply. "I nothing, but to please his fantasy," she whispered, as she slipped her hand under the waistband of his trousers.

* * *

 

In the darkness of the study next door, a silvery spark of magic shimmered on the silken tapestry, and a fine thread of green began to move as though stitched by an invisible hand, uncurling sideways from Draco's portrait.


	20. Chapter 20

It had been nearly ten days since they'd returned to Oxford and Hermione's tutors apparently hadn't got the memo about her being in a play, undertaking a ferocious amount of independent magical-literary study, and also being Wildly In Love (Hermione had taken to adding the capital letters in her head, and blamed her early exposure to romance novels, courtesy of Lavender and Parvati). Instead, she had so much work to do that between lectures, supervisions and continued rehearsals for  _ Othello _ , not to mention Draco's own punishing workload, she only managed to snatch time alone with her wizard at night.

They were good nights though, Hermione reflected to herself with a little smile, as she sat in the quiet, ancient library at Merton putting the finishing touches to her poetry essay. Her body felt different – muscles looser, the magic more of a simmer beneath her skin than an itch. Pia had commented at their last rehearsal that she'd become more languid – "No use it, it's good!" - and Blaise had thrown her a knowing wink before launching his next attack on her, "Out, strumpet! weep'st thou for him to my face?"

It seemed that the play was finally coming together, and Hermione suspected that it had a lot to do with her and Blaise's new-found confidence in their roles. Their little trip to London appeared to have cemented Blaise and Ed's relationship as much as it had hers and Draco's, though Hermione had yet to get enough alone-time with Blaise to ask him about it. When she had asked Draco he had merely shrugged, commenting that Blaise was as happy as he'd ever seen him, his eyes lingering on Ed with cautious warmth as he did so, and Hermione had surmised that though there was something else to be said it wasn't really Draco's place to comment. She'd contented herself with reaching up on tiptoe and pressing a warm kiss to his lips, delighting in the little noise of surprise that he'd made as she stepped away to return to the stage.

Their relationship was not, however, entirely free from worry and poor Caroline had managed to stir up Hermione's nerves spectacularly when they had grabbed a coffee together the previous afternoon. Things had been so busy for both of them as they ramped up towards the end of term that Hermione hadn't yet spilled all the details of her trip to London with Draco, and her dark-haired friend had squealed with delight when Hermione had got to the part about Draco having a box at the Opera. "Oh you're so  _ lucky _ , I bet you can't wait to tell all your friends when they come up to see the play!"

Hermione had felt her smile freeze on her face, her eyes widening as she considered how her friends would react. From what little Ginny and Draco had said about their exploits together as part of the Seekers, Hermione was fairly sure that Harry would be supportive once he was convinced that she and Draco were serious. Ron, however…Hermione couldn't help but worry that he would feel the betrayal keenly. Draco and Harry had supposedly been arch-nemeses at Hogwarts but it had always been Ron who had borne the brunt of the Slytherin's cruel humour.

She had dropped her head into her hands at the thought of the two of them confronting one another at the play, and Caroline had immediately been horrified. "What did I say? Is something wrong?"

Hermione had raised her eyes to meet her friend's, "I just realised my ex-boyfriend is quite possibly going to murder my new one."

Caroline had rolled her eyes, "I'm guessing there's a history there?" At Hermione's nod she had continued, "Honestly, I don't know how you managed to end up mired in all of this drama when you were home-schooled." Again, Hermione had felt the desire to confess all to the other girl, who had managed to somehow become her closest non-magical friend in Oxford, but she knew that the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy would ensure that the Ministry took a dim view of a little coterie of Muggles in Oxford who suddenly became aware of the existence of magic.

_ But Blaise told Ed _ , she thought to herself.  _ Interesting. _

She'd laughed along with Caroline at the ridiculous carryings on. "I mean," the other girl had said as they gathered their things to leave, "It's hardly as though any of them are  _ actually  _ going to murder one another is it?" Fortunately she'd already been heading out of the door, and hadn't seen the spasm of worry that had flitted across Hermione's face before she'd got herself under control.

Hermione turned her mind back to the matter at hand, quickly scanning through the pages covered in her own tight, neat script, and nodding her satisfaction. She'd got up early, slipping from beneath Draco's ridiculously soft sheets to get the essay finished and allow herself time to take another look over the collection of  _ Spectator  _ essays that was still needling at her. Flipping to a random page she began to read the essay on oratory, pausing to rub her eyes when the words seemed to swim before her.

_ When the words seemed to swim before her. _

Suddenly excited, Hermione squinted once more at the page – "I have all along acknowledged myself to be a dumb man, and therefore may be thought a very improper person to give rules for oratory" – and suddenly she saw it. She flicked back to the first piece in the collection,  _ The Spectator's Account of Himself _ , and read through with growing conviction. Finally Hermione sat back in her chair, feeling almost giddy with having finally cracked it. Addison was a Squib.

* * *

 

Hermione had barely paused long enough to gather up her things before she was trotting out of the library, through the college and out towards the House. She'd sent Draco her Patronus, so when she arrived at his set he was lounging in the doorway, hair mussed and falling over his face.

"Did you only just get out of bed?" She asked with a laugh, and he answered her with a dark grin.

"Well, when you're not in it I find it as good a place as any for reading Kierkegaard."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "'Love discovers truths about individuals that others cannot see'?"

"Very good, Miss Granger," Draco whispered, as she let him draw her in for a kiss, feeling her magic flaring beneath her skin as his lips touched hers in her agitated state. "Mmf," he made a muffled sound of discomfort and Hermione pulled away from him to see sparks lighting the air around them.

Mouth forming a little 'o', she stared up at him, "Sorry about that, but I think I had a breakthrough with the  _ Spectator _ ." Draco's eyes glittered and he pulled her into the room, listening as she laid out her suspicions (her certainties really) about Addison's magical status and what seemed, under close reading, to be a series of treatises on proper magical form made by a non-practitioner.

"I mean listen to this: ' _ Thus I live in the world rather as a Spectator of mankind than as one of the species; by which means I have made myself a speculative statesman, soldier, merchant, and artisan, without ever meddling with any practical part in life.'  _ But then when you sort of," Hermione cocked her head and squinted, unconsciously poking at the words with her finger, "It says as a Spectator of  _ wizardkind _ , by what means blah blah blah." She looked up at Draco, eyes shining, "It's a bloody treatise on magic, written by someone who can't do it!"

Draco pursed his lips, staring at the words intently. "That's a complex charm to disguise it though; to weave it in so deeply that it's reproducible with every imprint." He lifted his gaze to hers, "It's rare even among Squibs to have not even a drab of magic, but I think he'd have needed help to work this kind of enchantment on the text."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, "Well,  _ obviously  _ I know that Draco. I'd imagine someone in his family enchanted it for him."

Draco gave her a nervous look, "I guess his family might have kept him close, but most Squibs up until the last hundred years or so would have been quietly adopted into Muggle families, and from what I know about Addison his family weren't at all magical."

Hermione stared at him in horror, "Squibs were abandoned, you mean?" Draco's mouth made that little twist that meant he disagreed with her but wasn't sure how to argue his point, and Hermione felt irritation and affection war inside her. Setting the little book down, she stepped back towards her wizard. "I guess that you're going to tell me it was probably kinder letting them be raised entirely without magic?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as he looked down at her, obviously still trying to work out the response that ran the least likelihood of having her hex him. "In that day and age, I would say yes, though I agree it seems cruel. Your Addison though," he glanced at the book, "Does indeed seem to have been aware of what he was, and by the sounds of things a Squib's study of spellwork might be quite the find."

Grinning, Hermione let him know with a soft press of her lips to his that he had successfully demonstrated his Malfoy slipperiness, and Draco returned her affection gently, pulling away when Hermione went to deepen the kiss.

"Not," he said, stroking a hand down her cheek, "That the idea isn't far more appealing than anything else I might have lined up, but I was wondering if I could persuade you to come to a meeting with me." He held her gaze, his eyes silvery-soft in the morning light. "I've had a chat with someone about this  _ original magic _ thing that Alphard let slip," he pressed a finger to her lips when she opened her mouth to protest, "whilst of course being careful to mention nothing specific." He smiled at her, "And they think they know what he might be on about."

Hermione swallowed, but forced a nervous smile onto her face. "Any chance you're going to tell me who this someone is before I agree to go and meet them?"

Draco's smile turned impish, "Oh, love. Why would I want to ruin the surprise?"

* * *

 

"17 Diagon Alley!" Hermione followed Draco through the emerald-green flames, scrunching her eyes shut against the dizzying sensation of Floo travel. Apparently their destination had anti-apparition wards, was unplottable and, given that Draco had shown her the address on a scrap of paper, in a faintly familiar swirling script, was also protected by a Fidelius charm. Hermione had a strong suspicion that she was being taken to some sort of Seeker stronghold, and she dreaded bumping into Harry. Draco's smile had been teasing though, and she hoped that he had enough foresight to check that they wouldn't meet anyone whose eyebrows would be raised too much by their relationship.

She stepped of a wide inglenook fireplace and took in the cavernous, gleaming kitchen before her. It would have looked no different from any other wizarding kitchen had it not been for the large and complicated potion-making station that had been set up on the central island. Hermione took an involuntary step forward to investigate it, ignoring Draco at her side, but just as she was leaning forward to inspect a particularly intriguing alembic a roll of parchment rapped firmly on her nose.

"Honestly, Granger, did no-one ever teach you caution in the laboratory?" Hermione straightened, her natural reaction to feel chastened only slightly tempered by Draco's smirk as she turned to meet Theodore Nott's imperious gaze.

Before she could make any retort, another familiar head popped up from behind the counter. "Is that you Hermione?" Neville Longbottom's face was bright with friendly enthusiasm as he pulled himself to standing. "Oof." He stepped around the lab table and enfolded her in a warm hug. "Draco said he was going to bring somebody round, but I didn't realise it would be..." He trailed off, stepping away from her to look between the two of them, his cheeks turning pink, "Oh, right."

Hermione smiled nervously, waiting for any further reaction. When Neville just shrugged and smiled his familiar lopsided smile at her she felt her shoulders drop with relief. "He didn't tell me you'd be here." She gave Draco a slight shove with her shoulder, and he responded by draping his arm around her with a long-suffering sigh. Hermione relaxed into him unconsciously, and continued, "Although, where  _ is  _ here exactly?"

Before Neville could answer her question, Nott started speaking in his bored drawl, "If the Seekers had a brain, Granger, you'd be standing in it. Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt decided that my general theoretical expertise would be helpful to their little crew, and Longbottom here is, as it turns out, not a complete idiot when not being terrorised by Professor Snape, and has thus far proven himself somewhat useful."

Neville gave a snort, "Theo is so bad at Herbology it's almost painful to watch, so he needs someone to provide his ingredients, and I'm also apparently not entirely incapable as a lab assistant." Hermione stopped eyeing Nott balefully as she heard the faint note of pride in Neville's voice.

"Well, excellent. I'm all for this whole inter-house unity thing. But why am I here?"

"They want to take some of your blood and test its raw magical potential." Hermione looked up, to see Luna had drifted into the room, her usual dreamy expression belied by the brightness of her gaze when she looked at her friend. "There are certain genetic markers for magical heredity and when they occur spontaneously in Muggles it often results in exceptionally powerful witches. Wizards too, but usually witches. Like Morgan le Fay. Or Lily Potter. Or you."

The other witch and the three wizards all gaped at Luna who, typically, appeared unaware that she had said anything remarkable. Instead she beamed at Hermione, leaning against Theo, who dropped his chin to place his lips against Luna's cloud of blonde hair. A small part of Hermione breathed relief that she clearly wasn't the only one of her friends who had been seduced by a Slytherin. She remembered suddenly where she had seen the looping handwriting of the Secret-Keeper before, and smiled as she realised how deeply Theodore Nott must trust the wide-eyed Ravenclaw.

Draco cleared his throat, "When Alphard mentioned Original Magic it sounded like something that would be worth knowing about, especially given your...er...talents. Theo, Luna and Neville have been doing a lot of the background research for Seeker activities, and so I asked if they could maybe look into it."

Nott's eyes gleamed eagerly, "I found this old book at home.  _ Really  _ old. And it rambles on about Purebloods and preserving the magical bloodlines in the usual manner but there were a few mentions of the occasional need to reinvigorate the old Houses by visiting something that it called _ fons veneficia. _ Which, as far as I can work out, basically means the wellspring of magic."

"Riiight..." Hermione nodded, fairly sure that she knew where this was going, "And you think the wellspring of magic might not be an actual thing but..."

Neville cut in, "The book has a spell for 'finding' the wellspring, and you have to take blood from the 'source', and what it's basically saying is that it's not a spring but a person and we're pretty sure it means a person like you."

Looking from one eager face to another, Hermione grinned and rolled up her sleeve, "How much do you need?"

Draco smoothed a finger along the vein on the inside of her wrist, his face thoughtful. "Steady, Granger. 'Yet I'll not shed her blood, Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster.'" He lifted her arm and pressed a kiss to it, ignoring Luna's coo of approval and Neville's blush. "You're sure that you're happy for them to do this?"

Hermione shivered as Draco's tongue licked gently over her skin, out of sight of the others. Her magic seemed more sensitive than ever, as though it was focussed singularly in the spot that his lips had touched, "I'd like to know, I think."

Eyes dark, Draco pulled her forward to capture her mouth with a kiss, "I will deny thee nothing."


	21. What charms, what conjuration

Luna hummed tunelessly as she produced a small copper bowl and knife, and Hermione eyed both nervously, suddenly regretting her eagerness to indulge in ritual spellcasting. She glanced at Draco, who smiled sweetly at her, clearly enjoying her moment of panic, but gave the hand he held a gentle squeeze nevertheless. His reassurance was enough to steel her, and Hermione grit her teeth as Luna made a thin cut across her wrist, tilting her arm so that a few drops of blood tipped into the vessel.

She tried to ignore the memory that sprung unbidden to her mind of the last time a knife had sliced across her skin, but she couldn't hide her shudder as she watched the red liquid beading on her forearm. Looking up, she saw that Draco was still watching her, his mouth no longer smiling but drawn into a tight line, and she knew that he remembered that night in Malfoy Manor only too well. He held her gaze, and she wondered how it was that such a pale grey could seem so warm.

She heard Luna sigh "Oh," before she felt her magic, but she saw the glow as her wrist healed itself and swallowed hard. "Well at least we know why the Teg like you," the blonde girl remarked vaguely, and Hermione came back to herself with a snap as she frowned in confusion. She raised her eyebrows at Draco, who grimaced and shrugged. Hermione looked to Theo to see whether he could make anything of Luna's pronouncement, but he was already maneuvering a device that looked like a gigantic, many-lensed jeweller's loupe into place above the copper bowl containing her blood. He squinted through the layered crystal, then looked up at Neville, who was standing across the table from him.

"You ready?" Theo asked, and the Gryffindor boy smiled his answer, raising his wand.

Hermione watched, fascinated, as they began to move their wands in a complicated, synchronized movement above the device, finishing with a joint flourish that pointed directly through the crystal at the blood in the bowl, which, as the five of them watched, glowed golden and swirled of its own accord, finally settling into what looked like a pattern. Hermione was torn between demanding to know what sort of ancient blood ritual could be performed wordlessly and shoving Theo out of the way so that she could have a look through the crystal. Fortunately, he only glanced through for a moment before he was crowing, "Yes!" and motioning her forward to look. "Do you know Ogham runes?" he asked, after she had stared in silence for a few moments.

She lifted her head to scowl at him, "I took Advanced Runes with you,  _ Nott _ , I know what I'm looking at."

Theo's hazel eyes glittered and he smiled smugly at her. Hermione moved aside and let Draco look, his sharp intake of breath enough to tell her that he, too, was aware of the druidic alphabet.

_ Beith, Saille, Nion, Ngetal, Ruis. _

"This is amazing," Theo was saying. " _ Amazing _ . Your magic is all elemental power and potential and it's  _ incredible _ , I mean -"

"What  _ does _ it mean?" The lanky Slytherin paused, eyeing Hermione with a hint of uncertainty as she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry?"

"I know what the runes are, but what's got you all excited? Why is my magic any different to yours, or Draco's, or Luna's?"

Theo frowned, and opened his mouth to speak, but Luna got there before him. "It's to do with the specific combinations of DNA mutations that have resulted in your magic." Hermione opened her mouth, frowned, and then shut it again. Luna smiled winsomely at her as she continued, "It's simple really. Like I said before, there are a number of genetic markers for magic, most of which are found in minisatellite sequences in DNA. In most pureblood families these have stabilized and their magic is settled, but in Muggleborns because of the spontaneous occurrence some of the sites are hypermutable, so the level of magic contained in your DNA is difficult to quantify."

Luna paused, tipped her head and gave Hermione an uncharacteristically searching look, before continuing in her usual airy tone, "The runes are all about power; potential; beginning. Performing the ritual on a Pureblood you'll only see two or three runes. You've got five, and one of them is  _ Ruis _ , for transformation, which according to Theo's book is the marker for the  _ fons venificia _ ." Her blue gaze drifted off across the room as she continued, " _ Ruis  _ for Elder, like the wand. It's in all the old stories. You could say that since it's a matter of mutation then the founders of all the pureblood families were probably muggle-borns, if you look at it a certain way, so it makes sense that  _ Ruis  _ marks new bloodlines..." Luna made a little humming noise as she trailed off, smiling slightly.

Hermione looked at Draco to see his jaw hanging open, and when she glanced back at Luna the other girl met her eyes with a glimmer of dark humour. Suddenly she and Theo made more sense. Draco finally snapped his mouth shut and gave Theo an incredulous look. His friend simply shrugged, and when Draco turned to Neville he was openly smirking, "Luna's into the sort of thing not many of us understand, be it Nargles or DNA." He snickered, "Of course, once you do grasp the meaning it can make all that blood purity bollocks seem a little bit idiotic."

Draco flushed and muttered something about not needing to be told that, but Hermione barely registered his discomfort, having turned her attention back to the bloody runes, feeling a stirring excitement as she ran through their meanings in her head.  _ Vitality, subtlety, rebirth, harmony. Transformation. _

"Can you do it on Draco?" she said suddenly, unconsciously ending the awkward pause as her mind whirred with possibility. Draco was already shoving his arm out as Theo nodded, and this time it was Neville who collected the blood. When the two wizards made their casting Hermione watched, trying to decipher the wand movements, but then they were finished and Draco's blood was emitting a silvery glow, Theo once again grinning over the loupe, pushing it towards her so she could look.  _ Fearn, Huathe, Eadha. _

She raised her eyebrows at Draco and he bent to look, straightening to smirk at her. "Strength, purity and cunning," Hermione said, "You're  _ such  _ a Malfoy."

"Oh, witch, that I am." Draco's eyes were full of wonder as they moved across her face, "And you're like nothing else."

* * *

 

They stayed for lunch with the three researchers, listening in awe as Theo and Luna bickered about quarks and moon phases, dowsing and phenotypes. Neville interjected the occasional quiet, thoughtful observation, which usually had the result of settling whatever was under discussion, and Hermione and Draco remained subdued and amused, catching one another's eye every so often.

_ Original magic _ . Hermione thought to herself.  _ A new bloodline _ . She thought about what Luna had said about Lily Potter, and mused that the combination of whatever qualities his mother's genetic quirks had added to the Black and Peverell blood that Harry had inherited from his father had surely resulted in her friend's uniquely powerful and slightly wayward magic. She felt a whisper of anticipation curl in her belly as she looked at Draco again. Her wizard was a product of Black and Malfoy bloodlines…Hermione flushed and dropped her eyes to look at her salad. They were twenty years old, for God's sake. She didn't need to be thinking about what sort of magical children she and Draco might be capable of producing.

Draco's hand caught hers as she toyed with her fork and she looked up to see him watching her with a knowing expression. "I think Granger and I should probably get going if we're going to make it to our rehearsal this afternoon," he said, looking away from her to Theo, who nodded, offering a slow smile as he took in Hermione's blush.

She grit her teeth and smiled tightly at him, "Will you three be coming to see the play?"

Theo seemed to pause, looking at Draco, but Neville nodded enthusiastically, "Definitely! Harry said he, Ron and Ginny are going to the final performance, so I got him to buy us tickets too." Hermione felt her face relax, reminded by Neville's sudden earnestness of the way he'd been at school. Working with Nott had obviously done wonders for his confidence, but it was reassuring to see that the sweet, eager boy she remembered was still there.

"We'll be there," Theo said slowly, having obviously received silent permission from Draco. "If only to witness the fireworks when Potter and Weasley find out about this little union." Theo smirked, "Give Blaise my fondest, won't you." He winked at Hermione, "It should be fun to see you all ranged against one another onstage."

* * *

 

Draco apparated them back to a secluded spot in the corner of the Worcester grounds, catching Hermione's arm when she made to move towards the stairs, and pressing his lips to the spot where her veins wound across her wrist. "You're a wonder," he whispered, as though he couldn't quite believe she was real.

Hermione's heart stuttered at the look in his eyes, but she tried to be coy and teasing, "Well, inbreeding does have its downsides, so I guess it makes sense for something fresh to be added to the mix."

_ "Magic knows," Luna had murmured as she hugged her goodbye. "All these male pureblood heirs." A roll of her huge blue eyes, "Magic always knows." _

"All that pureblood bullshit," Draco said now, "Longbottom's right, you only have to look at Theo's dad or my aunt Bellatrix to see how badly that can turn out." There was a pause as they both suppressed a shudder, and then he went on, his tone softer as he stroked his fingers along her arm. "It isn't some sort of...it's not like soulmates or anything." He gave her a searching look, "I mean, you have a choice."

Hermione cocked her head, "I know that." She placed her palm on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her fingers: the movement deliberately, obviously possessive.

Draco leaned forwards so that their foreheads touched. "Good," he said finally, seeming to choose his words carefully, "Because for all that, it's as though your magic calls to mine." He made a tiny grimace, "And that book can say what it likes about it being a quirk to preserve and rejuvenate magical bloodlines. Loneliness is a curse to someone with a wizarding lifespan, and a bad marriage is worse. This is  _ our  _ magic, for us, not for whatever might come as a result." He bumped his nose against hers, the gesture tender in a way that would have surprised her a month ago. "I'm in no hurry for heirs, Miss Granger, no matter how powerful they might turn out to be."

Hermione laughed, "Well that's a relief, in any case." She pressed her lips briefly to his, before tugging on his hand, "Come on, we can't be late for rehearsal again."

"Ah," Draco sighed, as he let himself be dragged through the grounds towards the rehearsal room, "A maiden never bold, of spirit so still and quiet that her motion blushed at herself. And she, in spite of nature -"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

* * *

 

"...Myself will straight aboard: and to the state, this heavy act, with heavy heart relate."

Hermione watched through cracked eyelids as Simon delivered the play's closing lines, his posture slumped and defeated as he supported the 'wounded' Freddie. Blaise lay prone on the floor beside her, and Dominic (who was playing Gratiano as well as Brabantio) knelt over him, his head bowed in grief. Draco was off somewhere to the right, restrained by Mike, but Hermione couldn't see him from where she lay half on the bed, with Caro sprawled beside her. She hadn't realised until they'd started blocking the final scene that their bodies would end up piled around the bed, but now that they had she imagined it made for quite an affecting tableau. "Like a sort of  _ Massacre of the Innocents  _ vibe," Ed had said at dinner a few nights before, "You know, like the Tintoretto in Venice."

Blaise had laughed and teased, "You and your high artistic ideals," but when his eyes had met Hermione's across the table their usual playfulness had turned sombre and she knew that he too was trying not to think about the way bodies had been laid out in the Great Hall after the Battle of Hogwarts. She'd been grateful for Draco's arm around her and the warmth of his sigh into her hair as she hoped that when her friends came to see the play they wouldn't make the connection.

As the directors and other cast members whooped Hermione came back to herself, then realised that they'd just made it through their first full rehearsal. She lifted her head from the bed and caught Blaise's eye as he sat up. "My lady," he said, inclining his head. "I think that went rather well." Hermione laughed and swiped at his shoulder, feeling a wave of exhilaration break through her as Caro dove into her side for a hug. It  _ had  _ gone well; Blaise might have teased Ed about the artiness of the staging but Hermione knew that the directors had achieved something special, and she hugged Caroline back one-armed, using her other hand to squeeze Blaise's shoulder. When Caroline got up to bound across to Freddie, Hermione snatched at the opportunity of a few moments alone with Blaise.

"So Ed's probably going to be pretty thrilled with this? His Tintoretto vision brought to glorious fruition?"

Blaise laughed as he stood, pulling her up with him and slinging an arm around her shoulders. His gaze ranged across the gathered cast and crew until the lighted on Ed's straw-blonde head, and Hermione watched a small smile settle across his mouth that she recognised as a very similar expression to the one that Draco wore when he looked at her. "You're happy?" she asked him, her voice soft as she leant into his side.

Blaise looked down at her, his smile widening, "Yeah, very. I never...I guess I didn't think..." he blew out a sigh and ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. "Until he felt the wards on Draco's house, I wasn't sure, but then it was obvious that he was attuned to my magic so..."

"Attuned to your magic?" Hermione said, frowning in confusion, "Like - like I'm attuned to Draco's magic? Is Ed...does Ed have...like me?" She and Draco had told Blaise the broad strokes of Hermione's Original Magic (leaving out any of the more need-to-know details about the Seekers) after the rehearsal a couple of days ago, while Ed was on his way over with a takeaway.

He huffed a laugh, "Merlin, no. Ed's as Muggle as they come!" He gave her a searching look, "It's so funny the things you don't know, Granger." She scowled and punched his arm, and Blaise laughed again as he hugged her to him, "OK, so as you and Draco prove, with magical couples where the connection's strong enough you have a sense of one another's magic." He waited for her to nod before he went on, "And the same is true of Muggles with magical partners. If that bond is there, they get an impression, like a sort of aftertaste." He smiled goofily, the expression softening his handsomeness, "Ed says it's like having an extra colour added to the spectrum." Blaise gazed at the floor, apparently lost in thought as he scuffed one toe of his immaculate Converse on the boards, before looking back at Hermione. "How come Draco didn't tell you this? He realised after London."

Hermione rolled her eyes, shooting a mock glare across the room at Draco, who caught the look and smirked over Alan's shoulder. "Draco has an annoyingly noble attitude to other people's secrets which translates into leaving them to be divulged by their owners," she grumbled. For Hermione, whose insatiable curiosity had been known to result in perhaps a little less respect than was appropriate for other people's boundaries, her boyfriend's unexpected uprightness in that regard had proved a little frustrating. And something of a turn-on. But mostly frustrating.

"You can always tell when a wizard has been raised with proper ideals," Blaise said, nodding primly. Then he yelped as Hermione caught him on the backside with a wandless, wordless Stinging Hex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert Frost was really into the Ogham Few, which is a Celtic runic language based around trees (and I think quite possibly had a lot of influence on JK's wand wood lore).


	22. Perplexed in the extreme

 

Draco ran his tongue across Hermione's collarbone, tasting the salt on her skin and eliciting a moan as she moved beneath him, around him, her hands clenching where they held his. Draco felt the rush of magic as her palms grew warm, the crackle of it in the air and the coiling energy of it running up his arms and through him, through both of them. He inhaled sharply as she rolled her hips up to his, taking him deeper into herself, her lashes fluttering against his hairline as her breath shortened into little pants. He felt her tightening as she came and gasped his own release, watching in addled fascination as a shimmering glow worked its way across her skin and feeling every nerve ending on his body sing with corresponding heat.

The dress rehearsal that afternoon had come off without a hitch, and in an effort to ensure there was a minimal risk of her 'going off' in the performance tomorrow Hermione had spent much of the rest of the afternoon chatting to Luna via Draco's newly connected . He wasn't sure of quite what had been established, but the young women seemed to have reached a consensus regarding magic being a self-organising system in which Hermione and Draco's connection demonstrated some sort of negative feedback loop. Or words to that effect. Draco recognised a Cartesian element to the theory but wasn't entirely certain of the magi-biological principal that appeared to underpin it.

He hadn't complained when Hermione had suggested they test Luna's hypothesis in the bedroom. "Just…imagine you're doing wandless magic," she'd said, voice breathy as she unbuttoned his shirt and pressed her lips to his exposed pecs. "That feeling of being a conduit, that's what you need to hold onto."

Now, Draco rolled onto his back, feeling sated and spent but also strangely energized. Not that horrible, wired jumpiness that had got him through his sixth year but a clear, pure hum beneath his skin. Hermione flopped over so that she was sprawled across his abdomen, her cheeks flushed and eyes closed, and he carded his fingers through her ridiculous hair.

"Do you…do you think it worked?" he listened to the symphony of his blood and knew it to be essentially a rhetorical question.

Hermione opened her eyes and smiled languidly at him across his chest. "Oh yes, I definitely do." Draco felt himself react to that smile and Hermione blinked, eyebrows rising up her forehead "Again?" she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"This was your idea, witch," he grinned, feeling heady and powerful as he saw her eyes darken before she turned her smile into his skin, pressing her lips to the sleek muscle of him, trailing them down along the shallow groove in the middle of his defined stomach until –

"Malfoy! Stop whatever the fuck you're doing and get yourself to Hogsmeade right now!" Harry's silver stag patronus exploded into the room and as Hermione jerked upright in surprise Draco found himself thanking Merlin that she hadn't made it any further south. Then the words hit him and he looked away from the stag to meet her wide-eyed gaze.

"The Lestrange fucking idiots have  _ finally  _ pitched up and they've holed up in Honeydukes with a bunch of deranged Italian – I mean a  _ sweetshop  _ who the –" they could hear muffled crashes and then Harry yelled, "GIN! Gin where's my cl- what? What do you mean if she's – what the…Malfoy!"

The patronus lowered its antlers towards Draco and he felt his mouth go dry as Potter's voice turned calm and quiet: "Ginny says, if Hermione's with you then you'd better bring her, as we need all the help we can get." The stag stamped its hooves and tossed its head, "And while I would _very_ _much_ like to know why Hermione might be with you, I agree that if she is you should bring her so that she can help us. And then so that she can help _you_ fucking explain. I'll see you at The Hog's Head. Ten minutes."

The patronus faded from view as the pair of them remained staring at one another. Hermione shut her mouth with an audible  _ click _ , swallowed, and then asked, "The Lestranges?"

"Both of them just disappeared after the Battle of Hogwarts," Draco pushed himself up from the bed, answering her automatically as he started pulling on clothes, "We all hoped they were bloody dead but apparently no such luck." He tugged a jumper over his head and paused, looking at her. "Well, are you coming?"

Hermione sighed and summoned her jeans with a flick of her hand, "Yes, obviously, it's just…well…you heard Harry…"

He laughed darkly, "We were going to have to face the music at some point, Granger. At least you can save the surprise for Weasel until he comes to see the play on Saturday."

* * *

 

As soon as they arrived at The Hog's Head, Hermione knew that her hopes that Harry would overlook things in light of the pressing situation at hand were in vain. The dark-haired wizard looked up from where he was stood with Ginny and Michael Corner and gave her and Draco a murderous glare before stalking over. He made a swift pointing movement between the two of them. "When was I going to hear about this?"

His furious gaze was fixed on Draco, but Hermione knew the question was for her, "It's not as though it's some big secret, I just wanted to tell you  _ in person _ ." Harry gave a snort and Hermione felt her temper flare, "Well if we're on the subject of keeping secrets, HARRY POTTER, you're one to talk, playing at – what – magical Robin Hood?" She heard a snort of laughter from Dean Thomas, who was apparently the only other one in the room who caught the reference.

Harry glowered at her, "You know I'd have told you if I could."

Hermione cocked her head and gave him an unnervingly guileless smile, an expression that she knew she had picked up from Draco with worrying speed. "Well then, looks like we were both waiting for the best time to have a chat, doesn't it?" Her eyes flicked around the gathering of young witches and wizards in the room, mostly ex-DA members, but with a couple of more questionable additions such as Theo and, smirking at her from a corner, Daphne Greengrass. "Maybe we could wait until after we've gone and faced off against the homicidal maniacs?"

Draco's hand closed gently on her shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing lightly at the edge of her neck. Harry's eyes narrowed, "If you hurt her, Malfoy, I swear by Gryffindor's sword I will break your fucking nose."

Hermione opened her mouth to inform Harry that she was perfectly capable of defending her own honour  _ thank you very much _ , but she felt Draco's fingers twitch gently on her shoulder and bit her tongue. When he spoke his voice was a bored drawl, "Potter, it may have escaped your notice but the only one of your merry band who ever landed a punch on me is the one I'm shagging, so you will excuse me if I'm not trembling with fear of you and your overblown hero complex."

To Hermione's surprise Harry laughed, "I'd forgotten that." He eyed Draco's face speculatively, "Maybe you're overdue. Shall we see if one of your crazy uncles can get a good hex in?"

"For even suggesting that marriage to my heinous aunt qualifies Rodolphus  _ let alone _ Rabastan Lestrange to be called my uncle, Potter, I will make sure that should one of them manage to summon the wit to hex  _ you _ I will be unfortunately looking the other way."

Harry smiled, before casting Hermione a patent 'this-isn't-over' look, and turning to the group at large. "Right, Seekers. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, who are definitely not and should never be referred to as ferret-face's uncles, have ensconced themselves in Honeydukes alongside six or seven wizards from the Italian underground group  _ Le Ali Della Morte _ , who we must assume are as batshit mental as the Lestranges." He turned, fixing each of them in turn with his bright green stare, "Official line from the Ministry is to take them alive so that they can stand trial, but Royal is in favour of a quick resolution, however it is achieved, so long as the paperwork stands up. Which means no dark curses." This with a significant glare at Theo and Draco, who both rolled their eyes. "Good to go?"

There was a chorus of assent from the room, and so they pushed out of the gloomy pub to make their way to the sweetshop.

As soon as they arrived outside Honeydukes, two important facts became clear: first, that the Lestranges and all of their Italian hangers-on had been drinking, and second that none of them particularly cared about surviving the encounter.

With its huge windows and lack of interior furnishing, Honeydukes was a tactically idiotic spot to hole up in, Hermione mused. She had worried that the Lestranges were aware of the secret passageway to Hogwarts in the basement, but Neville had quietly assured her that Professor McGonagall had ensured it was blocked during the Carrows' reign of terror. Which threw up all sorts of interesting questions about just how long the Transfiguration professor had been aware of the passageway, none of which Hermione had time to consider as she blocked curses and fired off jinxes.

She didn't see the hooded witch pop up from the skylight of Honeydukes, but she did see Draco throw himself in front of her, taking the sickly purple hex that had been about to hit Hermione. Instead of rebounding off his hastily worked  _ Protego _ , the light pooled across it, then appeared to simply drift through and into Draco's skin, causing him to crumple without a sound.

Hermione wasn't quite sure what happened next, only that she made some sort of inarticulate scream, felt the magic snap under her skin like a whip, and then there was a huge flash of light which left every window in Honeydukes shattered, the only sound the tinkle of glass. It was Daphne who cast a  _ Homenum Revelio _ , showing everyone in the shop knocked to the floor and unmoving.

The others turned to look at Hermione, all gaping except for Theo, who started to laugh. "Oh great Salazar," he gasped finally, "Draco is going to be  _ so pissed  _ that he missed that." Hermione ignored him, dropping to her knees beside Draco's prone form. There wasn't a mark on him, but she hadn't recognized the strange, insidious spell that he had been hit with and she was loathe to try an  _ Enervate  _ when she didn't know what magic might still be working through his system.

There was a movement beside her and then Harry was there, his face pale in the moonlight. "I've sent McGonagall a patronus. We should be able to apparate to the Hospital Wing in a minute."

Hermione leaned against him, grateful that he was there; their earlier animosity forgotten. She smoothed a hand over Draco's mess of silvery hair, then glanced up as a brighter light flared and McGonagall's cat-shaped patronus announced that the wards had been temporarily lifted to them. Harry tucked her hand in his, lifting Malfoy's torso to take a firm hold around his ribcage. Hermione gave a sniff and Harry smiled down at her, "Don't worry, we'll get him to Pomfrey and he'll be fine before you know it."

"He'd better be," Hermione sniffed, as she felt the tug of apparition starting, "We've got to perform the bloody play tomorrow."

* * *

 

As they dropped into the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall rushed forward, helping them to lift Draco onto a waiting bed, and then batting Harry and Hermione away. Taking advantage of the momentary lull, Harry turned to his friend with a frown, "Draco is the guy from the play? The one you mentioned in your letters?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes trained on the wizard still lying prone on the bed, "Yeah. He's playing Iago."

Harry screwed his face up in thought, "My Shakespeare isn't the best, but he's the bad guy, right?"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself, "Yes, he's the bad guy." The smile fell from her face as she watched Madam Pomfrey waving her wand over Draco, "But he's not."

At that moment Draco gave a choking gasp, and Hermione rushed forward, barely paying attention to Madam Pomfrey as she tried to urge her to be careful. "Draco?" Hermione asked, "How are you feeling?"

Silver-grey eyes met hers then drifted out of focus, and Draco smiled a too-wide smile, "And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if't be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, Will do as if for surety."

His head lolled to the side and Hermione frowned up at Madam Pomfrey, who pursed her lips at her, "It looks like he was hit with a Confundus charm, but the physical pathology is different – more like a curse."

"What does that mean?" Hermione said, reaching for Draco's hand where it lay on the bed. He surprised her, closing his fingers around her wrist and sitting up straight, still with that oddly intense yet unfocused look, "Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship!"

Hermione stared at Draco in dawning horror as Madam Pomfrey prised his fingers from her. "It means," said Professor McGonagall, leaning over Hermione's shoulder to give Draco an appraising look, "That Mr Malfoy appears to have become quite convinced that he is, in fact, Iago."

 


	23. What's he that says I play the villain?

Hermione was woken from a fitful sleep by the cool light of the Scottish dawn creeping through the Hospital Wing. She sat up and immediately winced at the crick in her neck from the few hours spent in an uncomfortable chair by Draco's bedside. Frowning, she looked towards the blonde wizard but he appeared to still be under the effects of the sleeping draught that Madam Pomfrey had eventually administered last night after he kept blurting random Iago-isms at all and sundry.

Allowing herself a light shudder, Hermione scrubbed at her eyes to try and dispel their itchiness. She needed to be on form for the play tonight. She needed –  _ Oh Merlin  _ – to work out what the hell to do with Draco. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall had been at a loss as to how exactly the Italian witch had modified her Confundus charm, and though all of the Dark witches and wizards had been rounded up they had, the last Hermione knew, still been unconscious and therefore not in fit condition to answer questions.

Hermione's mouth settled in a line as she remembered that Professor McGonagall had asked that she report to her office as soon as she woke up, and she sighed as she got to her feet. Tucking Draco's sheet more tightly over his sleeping form, she bent and pressed her lips lightly to his. "Try not to murder anyone until I get back, OK?" she whispered.

Turning, she picked her way through the assembled slumbering Seekers, noting as she passed their chair that Harry appeared to have fallen asleep with his hand inside Ginny's bra. Hermione rolled her eyes as she slipped out of the Hospital Wing and started towards the Headmistress's office.

Minerva McGonagall eyed Hermione appraisingly over the steam from two mugs of strong tea. For all that there were dark smudges under her eyes the young witch looked well: the slightly manic energy that Minerva had come to expect from her seemed to have been reined in, and Hermione accepted her scrutiny with poised calm. Minerva had little doubt however that the girl's infamous temper was raging just below the surface. She replaced her mug of tea and met Hermione's furious stare, "I'm sure that you have some questions for me…"

Hermione gave a harsh little bark of laughter before she could stop herself, and then flushed slightly. No matter how cross she might be Professor McGonagall had always been her favourite teacher, and she was embarrassed by her own rudeness. "That's putting it a little lightly, Professor," she started slowly, before she exhaled forcefully, her shoulders slumping, "I just want to know  _ why  _ you and Kingsley excluded me from your plans?"

Professor McGonagall's unnervingly shrewd stare continued for a couple of moments before she gave Hermione a warm, if somewhat sheepish smile. "At first it was because I simply wanted to give you a chance to focus on your NEWTs and on learning to control your magic. All of the Seekers that we recruited early on were either already undergoing Auror training or were, as in the case of Mister Malfoy, on a very tight Ministry leash." Hermione frowned, but nodded for the Professor to continue. "And then when you came to me with your plan to go to Muggle University and undertake this research project, well," McGonagall's smile softened, "It occurred to me that it was possibly the first time that you had elected to do something entirely by choice, for your own interest, since you started at Hogwarts, was it not?"

Her frown deepening, Hermione considered this for a moment, "Well…I guess…but the Seekers are doing something important and –"

"As are  _ you _ , Hermione." McGonagall said. "Never underestimate the importance of the research that  _ you  _ have been doing, and the discoveries that you have made in such a short time." She sighed tiredly, "I did not want to deny you the opportunity to pursue something for the joy of it, after everything that you have done for the Wizarding World."

Hermione flushed at the unexpected praise, and dropped her gaze to where her hands were clasped in her lap, "I – thank you, Professor. I guess…I guess I can understand that." Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she went on, "And thank you for not allowing me to let my prejudice get the better of me with Blaise and with – with Draco."

She kept her eyes trained on her hands so didn't see Professor McGonagall rise from her seat behind the desk and step round to Hermione's side. When, in a gesture of uncharacteristic tenderness, McGonagall smoothed a hand over her hair to rest on Hermione's shoulder, the younger witch looked up at her in surprise, which only increased when she noted the faint glimmer in her former teacher's usually stern blue eyes. "You dear girl." McGonagall's voice was gentle, "You are a witch of unparalleled talent and character, Miss Granger. It would have been to my lasting regret had I not done everything in my power to prevent you from settling for anything less than you deserve."

Swallowing quickly, Hermione felt her heart leap at the unstated approval for her and Draco's relationship, even as she blushed even deeper. "Thank you," she whispered.

McGonagall flashed her another smile as she stepped back to her own chair, lifting her mug of tea to sip at it once more. "You know," she said, her tone now conversational, "I made Mister Malfoy read a whole heap of Muggle classics last year.  _ Pride and Prejudice _ and  _ Great Expectations _ , for example."

Hermione couldn't help her laugh, "You didn't!" Something tickled at her memory, "He loves  _ Great Expectations _ ," she said softly, "All that noble self-sacrifice…" Abruptly the reality of Draco's current condition in the Hospital Wing came back to her and she dropped her head into her hands with a moan, "What are we going to do if we can't break the curse?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something," Professor McGonagall said mildly. Hermione's head snapped up to see the Professor's eyes twinkling at her in a way that was oddly and not at all reassuringly reminiscent of Dumbledore. Hermione felt unease curl in her stomach as Professor McGonagall sipped blithely at her tea once more. "Brightest witch of the age, and all?"

* * *

 

Hermione was still unsure quite what to make of her meeting with Professor McGonagall when she returned to the Hospital Wing. However, she was not to be given more time to mull over what had been said, as she opened the door to be met by raised voices from the small group gathered around Draco's bed. As the door slammed behind her the noise suddenly ceased as everyone looked up to see who had come in, and Hermione had to suppress a groan upon realising that Ron and Blaise had joined Harry, Ginny, Neville, Theo and Luna. The two late additions did not appear to be getting along well, if Ron's high colour and Blaise's narrowed eyes, or their drawn wands, were any indication.

"HERMIONE!" Ron shouted, just as Blaise yelled, "Granger!" The two wizards paused, glaring at one another, then Ron barrelled forward and caught Hermione in a crushing hug. She was half-prepared to have to fend off some sort of inappropriate advance, so it was a relief to just have Ron hug her - as though for a moment all of the awkwardness between them had never happened. That is, until he stepped back, threw another death-glare at Blaise and demanded, "'Mione, what the fuck is going on?"

Hermione blanched, not sure how much Ron already knew. "Er…what are you doing here?" she said, looking desperately at Harry. He rolled his eyes, but stepped up to help out.

"I owled Ron and Zabini, since it looked as though we were all going to be stuck in the Hospital Wing and it seemed such a  _ perfect _ opportunity for a reunion." Hermione made to smack his arm but Harry dodged her, "Ron, I called Malfoy in to help with a Seeker's thing in Hogsmeade last night, and he turned up with Hermione in tow." Ron looked at her aghast as Harry went on, "Turns out the two of them have got pretty  _ cosy  _ as study buddies in Oxford. I'm  _ sure  _ she was going to tell you when the time was right, but you know how these things are…"

Hermione glared at Harry, who had obviously enjoyed taking his revenge for making him explain. She was preoccupied however by watching Ron's reaction to this revelation. With his eyes closed and his ears reddened, he seemed to be making an effort to control his breathing. "Right…okay," Ron said finally, his eyes flicking open to meet Hermione's, "That's…Oh Merlin bugger it, are you happy?"

Feeling the stirrings of hope Hermione smiled tentatively at him, "I really am."

Ron sighed and blushed, scratching awkwardly at his nose, "Well I guess that's all I really care about, even if you have fallen for the world's biggest prat."

"Really?" Hermione asked, feeling surprised relief flood through her.

"Yeah," Ron said, looking awkward for a moment before he slung an arm around her shoulders. "I've had enough time to think about it and, well, if Malfoy is the world's biggest prat then I guess with the way I behaved I come in as a close second."

Harry gave a whoop and threw his arm around Hermione from the other side, making her blush and giggle as she tried to shake the pair of them off, momentarily giddy at having her two best friends back by her side. The boys stopped jostling her when Blaise cleared his throat loudly from where he was still stood by Draco's bedside, "AHEM. Sorry to interrupt this  _ touching  _ moment," he sneered pointedly and Hermione rolled her eyes, "But Draco is lying here apparently suffering the ill-effects of a curse and I wouldn't mind knowing what we're going to do about it."

Hermione extricated herself from Harry and Ron and came over to wrap her arms around Blaise's waist, "Don't be grouchy, you'll give yourself wrinkles." He pouted at her, but she could tell that he wasn't really angry, just worried about his friend. Without Harry and Ron distracting her, Hermione's own anxiety about Draco's condition came back in full and she had to force herself to maintain a calm demeanour as she took his hand where it lay unmoving on the bed.

She didn't have to look to know that the small hand that took hold of her free one belonged to Luna; she simply squeezed her thanks for the show of support. Luna leant forward to look closely at Draco, then turned her head to give Hermione a small smile, "You could always try and reach out to him, you know. You two have a very deep connection, and I know that when Theo and I –"

"Oh, I think that's enough," Theo cut in, his cheeks going slightly pink even as he struggled to contain a smile. "She's right though, Granger," he said, "You could try using your magic to get through to Draco."

Hermione looked around the circle of her friends, all looking curious and eager. She couldn't think of anything better to try, but she tried to keep her good sense paramount. "Alright," she said, "I'll try it. IF," she paused, waiting for the general hubbub of excitement her words caused to die down, "If Madam Pomfrey agrees that it might work."

* * *

 

They had to wait an hour for the Mediwitch to return from breakfast, and Hermione could feel herself growing antsy. In an effort to calm down she pulled the little copy of  _ Othello _ that she'd taken from Alphard's library out of her bag and began to peruse her lines, checking for anything she couldn't remember. She could barely concentrate, however, and when Madam Pomfrey finally came through the doors Hermione nearly wept with relief.

After listening to Luna's idea, the Mediwitch pursed her lips then nodded slowly, "It sounds as good an idea as any. I spoke to a  _ stregadottore _ in Rome this morning who said  _ Le Ali Della Morte  _ are notorious for adapting seemingly mild curses so that they have to be worked out of the system." Seeing the blank looks on the faces of the young witches and wizards around her Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue, "While he shouldn't incur any lasting damage, Mr Malfoy will likely have to fight the curse off himself. However, if his magic is tied to yours, Miss Granger, it may be that you can prompt him to do so."

Hermione nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle upon her.  _ Why did this have to happen today of all days? _ Her eyes met Blaise's and she knew that he was thinking much the same thing. "Did you tell Ed what happened?" she asked, to distract herself from what she was about to attempt.

Blaise wrinkled his nose, "I told him Draco got hurt, but not much else." His gold-green eyes flicked to the clock on the wall of the Hospital Wing and he grimaced, "He'll probably start to worry pretty soon." Hermione followed the look and realised with a jolt that it was already nearly eleven. They were supposed to meet at Worcester at 2pm, so whatever happened with Draco, they needed a plan by then.

"Bugger it," she said. "Here goes nothing." She wrapped both her hands around Draco's, and leaned down to rest her forehead against his. "I need you to wake up, Draco," she whispered, "I need you to  _ fight _ whatever this is."

Hermione felt magic flare to life in her palms, flowing back and forth between her and Draco. She bit her lip so as not to cry out as the tickle turned to a painful burn, and just when she thought she would have to let go she saw his eyes fly open. Without missing a beat Draco's lips latched onto hers, his hand dropping hers to catch hold of the end of her braid. Hermione heard Ron make a grunt of disapproval and abruptly Draco was pulling away, pushing her to one side as he glared over her shoulder at the ginger-haired wizard.

Scowling, Draco turned to look at Hermione again, and she gazed hopefully back; that is, until he opened his mouth. "I will chop her into messes: cuckold me!"

Dropping her head into her hands, Hermione made a growl of frustration. "I'm guessing that's not good?" She heard Ron ask, Harry choosing just to snicker in reply.

Looking up again, Hermione caught Blaise's calculating frown as he assessed Draco. "Pass me that copy of the play that you were reading would you, Granger?" Wordlessly she complied, and watched him flick through the aged pages. He paused, eyes skimming across the words, and then he looked at Draco and spoke, "O, tis foul in her!"

Draco's eyes snapped to Blaise from where he had been staring daggers at Ron, "With mine officer!" he exclaimed.

Hermione barely had time to register Ron's muffled, "What the fu-" before Blaise clapped a hand over his heart and cried, "That's fouler!"

Starting to see what Blaise was doing, Hermione was unsurprised to hear Draco's next words, though their vehemence was no less hurtful, "Get me some poison, Iago; this night: I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again: this night, Iago."

Blaise, damn him, shot Hermione a grin of absolute glee as he whispered silkily, "Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated."

"Merlin and Nimue," Neville whispered, his eyes wide.

"Good, good," Draco had relaxed back onto the bed, nodding gently, "The justice of it pleases: very good."

Blaise, if anything, smiled wider, "And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker: you shall hear more by midnight." He waggled his eyebrows at Ron, who flushed.

"Excellent good." Draco smiled, right before Blaise hit him with a stunning spell.

"I don't know what you're looking so happy about," Hermione groaned at Blaise. "I've made it worse! He thinks he's Othello!"

"Ye-es," Blaise was still grinning, "But he's following the script."

"So?"

Hermione's confusion was reflected on the faces of the others in the room, and Blaise gave a dramatic sigh as he realised he would have to explain further, "So if, as Madam Pomfrey," he gave a slight bow to the matronly witch, who blushed charmingly, "has informed us, this spell is likely to have to be worked out of Draco's system, surely the logical  _ working out _ of him thinking he's Othello is for him to act the role through to its conclusion?"

It felt as though someone had poured icy water down Hermione's spine, "You cannot be seriously suggesting…"

"Oh but I am," Blaise's tone was gleeful, and Hermione wondered quite what she'd done in a previous life to deserve such idiots for friends as she saw smiles of realisation appear on first Theo, then Harry's faces. Ginny was frowning in disapproval, much as Hermione imagined that she was, Neville was chewing his lip and Luna appeared to be examining the chandelier over Theo's shoulder. Ron, bless him, still looked utterly clueless.

"Lucky Nott keeps a stock of Polyjuice Potion, isn't it Zabini," Harry grinned, and Hermione saw horror dawning on Ron's face.

"Oh, bloody hell," was all he said.


	24. Nature erring from iself

"Explain to me again what the hell is going on."

Hermione winced at the quiet fury in Ed's voice, glad that it was Blaise and not her who was on the receiving end of the uncharacteristically harsh tone, not to mention the swearing. She looked up in time to see Blaise catch Ed's hand between his own. "Draco got hit with a curse, he thinks he's  _ actually  _ Othello, and we're fairly sure the best way to cure him is to let him work through the confusion by acting out the part."

Ed growled, but at least he hadn't pulled his hand away, "And in order for him to do that the two of you are going to pull some freaky  _ body-swap  _ voodoo on fucking  _ opening night _ ?"

"Whoa there," Theo had gone pale, " _ No-one  _ is going to be practising Voodoo." He looked at Hermione, clearly appalled, "Why would he suggest that? Are all Muggles this stupid?"

"Theo!" she hissed, even as Blaise and Ed both glared at them. She and Blaise had decided that Theo should probably come with them to explain things to Ed since he was the one who would be administering the potion, but Hermione was beginning to think it might have been a mistake.

"Fine." Ed ground the word out, "Not voodoo then. Would you prefer freaky body-swap  _ bullshit _ ?"

Theo threw his hands up in frustration, though his voice stayed controlled. "It is  _ perfectly safe _ . We polyjuice the pair of them, Draco plays Othello, Blaise plays Iago, you get to the end of the performance, Draco works the spell out of his system, curtain down, the end."

Ed turned to Hermione, "Please tell me that you don't think is a good idea?"

She shrugged helplessly, "We don't really have time to try anything else. And while I may not agree with Theo that it's completely  _ risk-free _ ," she eyeballed the tall Slytherin, who had the good grace to look a little sheepish, "There will be enough witches and wizards around so that if it does go wrong we should be able to contain the situation."

She saw the fight go out of Ed as he realised that he was outnumbered, and he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before looking up and stabbing a finger at her, "If this goes wrong and we get a bad review,  _ you  _ get the blame."

This was so unexpected that Hermione had trouble fighting her smile, "Your biggest concern is the reviews?"

Ed flushed but held her gaze, "And why shouldn't it be? You lot can prance around doing your witchy-wizardy-wanky  _ crap _ but if you ruin this play I promise you, some sort of  _ curse  _ will be the least of your worries."

It seemed for a second as though Theo was going to say something but he was quelled by a look from Blaise, who had curled his hand tightly around Ed's. "I won't let them fuck it up, alright?" His voice was low, intimate, and Hermione felt suddenly awkward as she watched the exchange between them. She made a shooing motion at Theo and ushered him out of Ed's room, closing the door behind them.

Once they were alone Blaise sighed and leant his forehead against Ed's, "I'm really, really sorry about this. But we're trying to make the best of a ridiculous situation."

He felt Ed's reluctant smile against his skin; felt the light brush of his fingers against his collarbone as his hand travelled from Blaise's hip to the side of his neck. "It's okay. I trust you and Hermione. That Theo guy has a bit of a mad scientist vibe going on but if you say everything will be fine then," a little pause, a little press of lips beneath Blaise's ear, "then I guess I believe you." The gentlest tug of teeth against his pulse point made Blaise shiver, "Not that I won't be having words with Draco about appropriate pre-show activities."

Blaise felt approximately four out of the thousands of nervous butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach settle at Ed's words. "This is going to be incredibly weird, you know that?"

Ed's laugh was a huff of air, more movement than sound. "Oh I'm aware." He pulled back to look into Blaise's eyes. "So the next time I see you, you'll look like Draco?" Blaise gave a dramatic shudder and nodded. Ed tipped his head, gaze thoughtful. "I think snogging you while you're dressed up as your best mate might be a  _ little  _ out there for my tastes. And would cause quite a bit of confusion. So I guess I'm just going to have to get my fill in the next," his eyes flicked down to his watch, "Half an hour?"

Goosebumps rose over Blaise's skin once more, and he tried not to imagine how it would feel to wear Draco's. Ed's lips were very close to his, and Blaise closed his eyes before he felt their touch.

* * *

 

Hermione could feel how tightly she was holding Draco's fingers, but she couldn't force herself to relax.  _ This stupid plan,  _ she thought. "Tell me again how you stabilised the Polyjuice, Theo."

Theo glanced up at her from where he was trimming a couple of Draco's hairs. She saw his face twitch as he clearly tamped down the urge to huff at her, and he cast his eyes down to his work as he dropped the hair into the potion, which fizzed and turned white gold. "The fluxweed," he said quietly, as he lifted the small vial to the light in order to scrutinise its contents. "You have to pick it under the full moon of course, but if you place a stasis charm on the plant before you do, then you get a balance; change and constancy. The effects last about four hours, give or take."

"And you've tested it?" Hermione said, hating the pleading tone in her voice.

"Extensively."

A muscle flickered in Theo's jaw, and Luna glanced up from where she stood next to him on the other side of Draco's bed, her eyes very large and very blue in the evening light. She smiled mischievously at Hermione, "We tested it on ourselves, and it definitely works. It was very interesting to experience what Theo felt when I put my – " The wizard in question made a soft, strangled noise and Luna stopped talking. In spite of her worry, Hermione couldn't help smiling. She was fairly certain that Luna tortured Theo deliberately by seeming to always be on the point of spilling some dark secret about the quiet wizard's sexual proclivities.

She glanced away to where Blaise was standing, his own vial of Polyjuice clutched in his hand, turned the rich gold-green of his eyes. He offered her a tight smile and then glanced at his watch. Hermione got the hint. They'd managed to avoid suspicion during the afternoon by saying that Draco had to go to an emergency supervision, but they needed to get going if they were going to be at the Playhouse on time.

Harry, Ron, Ginny and a few others were already there, and some careful obliviation had ensured that the three protagonists' failure to appear until immediately before curtain-up had not drawn any attention. Hermione knew however that Ed would be climbing the walls with nervousness, and she could see from the set of Blaise's jaw and shoulders that he was equally tense.

She hoped suddenly that Draco would forgive them all for this. It seemed such a small thing compared to everything they had been through over the years, and yet she knew the thinness of the line that his sanity had skated in his last two years at Hogwarts. A  _ Confundus  _ of this scope seemed all at once the cruellest thing that he could have been hit with, and she squeezed his fingers between his. Well, if he did blame her, then  _ Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve. _

"Are you ready, Granger?" Theo's voice broke into her thoughts, and Hermione blinked rapidly to stave off the sudden threat of tears.

"Yes."

* * *

 

Draco wasn't sure what was happening. His shoulders felt too loose, the bones of his hands too large. When he looked down he could see black eyelashes at the edge of his vision, which he knew wasn't right. His mouth opened and he heard his voice speak words that he knew were correct but that were not  _ his… _

"Most potent, grave and reverend signiors…"

His hands moved through the air in front of him but the shapes that they described were shapes that he didn't know. A face that he thought should be his turned and looked at him, lowered silver eyes to the floor. Her voice chimed in his ears, welcome relief, and she danced across the wooden floor towards him. He watched her smile at him, felt the touch of her hands light upon his skin. He reached and twined his fingers in her hair, trailed them over the soft skin of her jaw. Her eyes were bright and worried in contrast to her laughing mouth and he longed to tell her everything was fine but he knew that it was not.

"I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself."

A hand upon his shoulder, the whisper in his ear of – of – was that his voice? "Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!"

It was there, at the edge of his mind, but he couldn't understand it and so he let his mouth shape the words even as his brain worried at the strangeness of everything he was saying. "And yet, how nature erring from itself…"

_ A script _ . He was following a script. And his eyes were following hers as they turned to the man with the dark hair who smiled and touched her arm, and he felt anger and shame and  _ how could she- _

Her hand: "Tis a good hand, a frank one."

Her voice: "For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart." And his heart was in his throat and her hand was in his. And the words kept falling from his mouth even as he grappled with his thoughts because this was  _ not _ – something was  _ not – _

"With her, on her; what you will." Bile clawing at him, like hooks in his mind, like the cruel fingers of a curse.

_ A curse _ . "Let her rot, and perish, and be damned to-night; for she shall not live." His voice was wrong, the words were wrong, the feeling of the air in his lungs was wrong; but the words came anyway and he kept breathing and he cried "Devil!" and a hand –  _ not his hand please no  _ – struck her cheek.

Other hands dragged him from the bright lights and he stood and leant his head against the rough brick of a wall, trying to breathe so that it felt right.

"Draco, mate." He brushed the hand from his shoulder, ignored the voice and turned towards the lights again. There was more to say.

* * *

 

Her jaw ached and her cheek burned where he'd struck her. Blaise's hand, but whose intent she hadn't been sure until she had looked into Blaise's eyes, searched for Draco, and found neither of them. There'd been a whisper of something but then it was gone and Hermione had heard the audience gasp, heard a couple of murmurs about how incredibly  _ real  _ they'd made the blow look, and the tears that started to her eyes hadn't been acting. Neither had the shake of anger in her voice as she assured him in a tone of aggrieved confusion, "By heaven you do me wrong." She resolved then and there to hex Blaise and Theo senseless at the first opportunity after the bloody play was over.

For now she lay sprawled on the bed, focussing on the way the lights made her sweat and ignoring the pain in her face. Blaise had quickly glamoured it for her backstage so that the bruise wouldn't raise questions from those not party to  _ the stupidest plan ever conceived _ and Hermione had tried to ignore how very bizarre it was to see Blaise's concern shape the movements of Draco's hands. Double-vision; vertigo. She'd winced, scrunching her eyes shut, and he'd whispered "Sorry" into her hair as she turned to go back onstage, the wrongness of the way Blaise pronounced the word with Draco's mouth making it stick in her ears.  _ Nearly over _ , she told herself,  _ and then we'll see. _

She heard the audience stirring quietly and then Blaise's musical voice speaking with Draco's sharp consonants: "It is the cause, it is the cause my soul…" Hermione wanted to sob, felt her magic well up and took a deep breath to calm it. She distracted herself by focussing on the differences between the way that she had grown used to hearing Blaise deliver the soliloquy and the way in which a  _ Confundus- _ addled Draco spoke the lines.

When his lips hovered over hers it was Blaise and Draco onstage and it was she and Draco in his set that cold night when he had first offered to run the scene with her. Hermione felt the press of his mouth, heard the sharp inhale he took.

"Who's there, Othello?"

They knew this; they had run this scene together so many times when Blaise had been off with Ed and Draco had pinned her underneath him, his thumb stroking the hollow between her collarbones as he murmured words into her smiling mouth.

But there was none of that gentleness as Draco moved Blaise's hands: hands that tore the covers from her, that gripped her arm and threw her to the ground. Hermione banged her elbow and felt the sick feeling of it curdle in her stomach.  _ " _ Out, strumpet! Weep'st thou for him to my face?"

Because she  _ was _ crying; she could feel the tears on her cheeks as she raised both hands to cup Blaise's broad, strong cheekbones, searching for sharper angles. "Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!"

And now he was behind her, an arm locked around her as he pressed the pillow to her face. Hermione bucked and kicked against him, her hands clawing at his strong grip. How much was even pretense now? Her fingers closed around his wrist, she gasped uselessly against the cotton, her legs jerking, and the thought in her mind as she fought momentarily free - "But while I say one prayer!" - was  _ please. _


	25. For she had eyes and chose me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Put out the light, and then put out the light.

There was a fizzing pop in his ears like a change in atmospheric pressure and Draco jerked, his heart beating a wild, staccato rhythm in his heaving chest. A leftover whisper of magic uncurled its way across his shoulderblades, more like a cat rubbing itself against his skin than the usual fire and ice feeling of his power reacting to Hermione's. Draco blinked, breathing sharply through his nose to fill his lungs with the scent of Hermione's hair.

His arms were wrapped tight around her, her back pressed to his chest. He looked up, the brightness of the lights making him wince, and then he scrambled backward as his brain suddenly caught up with his body and he realised that he was back in control.

Hermione's head thumped onto the stage as she slipped from his lap and Draco stopped, alarmed by the heavy noise of it. He flicked his eyes up to the dark space below the lights where he knew the audience sat.

The silence was thick, tense. Draco swallowed and lifted his hands to stare at their nut-brown colour, trying to control his breathing as he sifted through the memories. It was like waking up from one of the Imperius curses that his father would occasionally subject him to: the memories horribly detailed right down to the utter lack of control. A curse, he'd heard Theo say. He remembered seeing Hermione's face and the way his reeling mind had seized upon the first thing that made sense – the  _ bloody _ play.

And then the Polyjuice.  _ Damn Blaise and his good ideas,  _ he thought, as he became aware that Caroline was standing uncertainly at the edge of the stage. Her face was ashen beneath her make-up, her wide eyes on Hermione's unmoving form. Draco realised he had missed his cue just as Caro banged on the wall again, a slight edge of panic making her voice sound thin and reedy: "What ho! My lord, my lord!"

He took a deep breath and leaned forward to stroke Hermione's hair as he spoke. "What noise is this?" Draco stared out into the audience as he knew Blaise had been directed to, silently glad that he had learned the whole play. "Not dead? Not quite yet dead?" He ran his fingers over Hermione's cheek, the shape of Blaise's hand making the curve of it seem new even as relief flooded through him when he felt magic spark to life at the contact. "I that am cruel am yet merciful," he said, as he closed his hand around her pale throat, pulling her back against him. He ducked his head as though to smell her hair again and placed his lips against her ear, "I'm sorry about your cheek, love _. _ "

He felt Hermione's sharp intake of breath and had to catch himself to avoid kissing her. Instead he slipped his arms beneath her prone form, lifting her to place her on the disheveled bed. Glancing up, he took in Caro's tight jaw and allowed the side of his mouth that faced away from the audience to quirk up. It was a Draco expression, out of place on Blaise's face, and she frowned uncertainly at him. "O come in, Emilia," he said, standing slowly, "Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw." He tugged the flimsy lace curtain across the bed so that Hermione's hand was left dangling limply below its edge before he turned fully to Caroline. "What's the matter with thee now?"

Caro's eyes went again to Hermione and Draco raised a single eyebrow at her. She gulped, and almost whispered, "O, my good lord, yonder's foul murders done."

Draco collected himself in time to save his grimace, and instead turned to the audience to murmur, "She comes more nearer than she was wont, and makes men mad."

He continued to pace near the front of the stage, wringing his hands in anguish as Caro related the death of Roderigo and how Cassio had been injured, and then he turned sharply on his heel as Hermione's voice croaked harshly from the bed, "O falsely, falsely murder'd!"

Caro spun to the bed, ripping the curtain aside as she cried "Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice. Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!" Caro clutched at Hermione's limp hands, leaning into her as the other girl's lashes fluttered briefly, before her soft voice whispered, "A guiltless death I die."

Falling to her knees beside the bed, Caro pressed her lips to one of Hermione's hands before she sobbed, "O who hath done this deed?"

"Nobody," Hermione breathed, though her voice seemed to ring through the silent theatre. "I myself. Farewell, commend me to my kind lord." Her eyes flickered to Draco and the barest edge of a smile lifted her mouth, "O, farewell."

There was pure, absolute quiet for a moment before Caro raised her head to look at Draco, eyes glittering with unshed tears. He met her gaze, moved his eyes from hers to the hands he held out in front of him, and then on to stare across the audience: a silent challenge. "Why," he purred, feeling the rumble of Blaise's deep voice reverberate oddly in his chest, "how should she be murdered?"

* * *

 

Hermione had never been more grateful that the directors had chosen to fillet the final scene as she lay impatiently still, listening to the play rush to its conclusion.

Quickly, but not quickly enough for her liking, another weight pressed upon the mattress and she heard Blaise's voice growl out, "I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee: no way but this; Killing myself, to die upon a kiss."

It was Blaise's lips that pressed to hers but the urgency, the hunger of the kiss was all Draco and she had to fight against her instinct to arch up into him as she tasted the ozone flavour of magic on her tongue. And then he was falling away, slumping to the floor, and Simon and Freddie were speaking, and then it was over.

_ It was over. _

As the first tentative smattering of applause was lost in whoops and cheers Hermione sat bolt upright on the bed, ignoring Caroline's giddy laughter behind her as she scrambled to kneel beside where Draco was stirring himself from the floor. Hermione's hands grasped his face, ignoring the fact that the contours of it were all Blaise – all wrong - because the way he  _ looked  _ at her was all Draco and her magic was sizzling at the contact of their skin and she barely realised that she was crying with relief as he closed his eyes and bent his forehead to hers, his fingers closing tightly, possessively on her upper arms.

If the others onstage noticed anything amiss they didn't say anything, simply pulling the pair of them to their feet and then forward to take their bows before the audience. Hermione swept the back of her hand quickly across her face and then plastered on a too-wide grin, gaze skimming over the faces and finding Harry, Ron, Ginny and Neville, their giddy expressions mirroring her own. A hand lifted into the air, waving at her, and she caught Theo's eye as he motioned urgently towards his wrist, mouthing something. The fingers on her arm clenched, and she turned to see Blaise's face looking pinched and… pale…

As the tips of his hair started to whiten and lengthen Hermione tugged Draco sharply back, grabbing Blaise's hand and noting as he looked at her in alarm that his eyes had started to darken from silver to dusky gold. Quickly, she pulled them both with her as she ran offstage, just in time before their features morphed and resolved fully back to normal. Blaise shook his hand free of Hermione's grip and reached up to pat his hair, eyes closing with relief as he found the familiar buzzed curls.

Draco raised trembling fingers to stroke Hermione's bruised cheek, his expression stricken. "I…" he whispered, but didn't get any further before she threw herself at him, face buried in his shoulder as she choked out a sob, "Thank Godric you're alright! I'm so sorry Draco, I'm so,  _ so  _ sorry."

He held her tightly, hands twining in her hair as he glared at Blaise over her shoulder. When his friend offered a sheepish smile Draco narrowed his eyes, finally pushing Hermione away so that he could address both of them together: "If you  _ ever  _ make me do  _ anything  _ like that again, I'll… I'll…" He shivered and grimaced, "Hermione, I could have  _ killed you _ ."

She opened her mouth to respond but was cut off when Holly appeared beside them, "What the hell are you doing? Malfoy! Blaise! Why have you swapped costumes you idiots? Get back out there!" For a small woman she was surprisingly forceful, Draco thought, as she hustled them back out onto the stage where they were met by a renewed round of enthusiastic applause.

The audience appeared amused by his and Blaise's seeming prank and Draco decided to roll with it, smirking and grabbing Hermione's hand, feeling her fingers squeeze his tightly as she dipped into a curtsey. Draco heard Potter yell, "Malfoy! You absolute nutter!" and raised his eyes to scowl at his sometime-adversary.

A flash of golden hair caught his attention behind Potter's shoulder, and Draco felt his mouth go dry as he met his mother's pale-blue stare.

* * *

 

It was only Ed stepping in to defend him that stopped Pia fully tearing into Blaise for deciding to play Othello "Oh, just a little more  _ batshit _ than we'd rehearsed." Fortunately before Ed could be accused of allowing his personal life to affect his judgement Alan pointed out that, given the audience's reaction, the whole performance had not been a disaster. Draco smiled gratefully at Blaise for taking the bollocking in stride, and his friend rolled his eyes dramatically at him as soon as Pia turned away. "What?" Draco had shrugged, "I figure this makes us just about even."

Gradually most of the cast dispersed from the dressing room, clapping one another on the back and all in high spirits after a successful opening night. Hermione was left alone, peering into the mirror as she dabbed dittany onto her still-glamoured face when Caroline slipped back in, laid a gentle hand on her arm and gave her a searching look. "Can I have a word, do you think?"

Placing the little bottle back into her beaded bag, Hermione met Caro's dark green eyes in the mirror. "What's up?"

The other girl didn't answer immediately and Hermione was able to take in the downturned corners of her normally smiling mouth and the absence of her dimples. "Look," Caro said at last, "I know that there's stuff you aren't telling me, it doesn't take a genius to work that out, but I'd like to think we're friends so I need to say something."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but Caro held up a hand, her tone becoming unusually strident. "Just, let me get this out." She screwed up her face and started to talk quickly, "Draco looks at you like you hung the moon, and Ed is clearly head over heels for Blaise, so whatever  _ the hell _ was going on out there tonight, I want you to tell me that the pair of you aren't…that you're not…"

As she realised what her friend was trying to ask her Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. Part of her wanted to laugh but it would have been so unfair to Caro that she bit down on the impulse. "I…" she whispered, stopped, and gathered herself. "It isn't what you think, at all."

"Isn't it?" Caro asked, "Because it looked pretty bloody intense between the two of you from where I was standing." She chewed her lip slightly, obviously unsure whether to continue. "I mean…that final scene…"

"I know how it looked." Hermione nodded, "But it was…" she racked her brains for how to phrase what she would say next, "There are things that I haven't told you, that I can't tell you." She stared earnestly back at Caro, "But Blaise and I are fine, we're friends and nothing more. And I  _ love  _ Draco."

Caro held her gaze a moment longer before her expression softened, "Okay then," she said, "I believe you." Hermione felt herself sag with relief before Caro continued, "In return, you have to promise that one day you will  _ actually _ tell me what happened."

They eyed one another uneasily, and then Hermione nodded slowly. "That seems fair."

Caro blew out a breath and all at once the usual sparkle returned to her face. "Good. In that case shall we go meet the others in the bar?"

In spite of her misgivings over the promise she had just made Hermione was touched by Caro's willingness to call out her odd behaviour. She gathered up the beaded bag and followed the other girl up the stairs from the backstage area and into the public bar, where it seemed most of the audience had hung about to congratulate the emerging cast members.

Harry and Ron were the first to spot Hermione and Caro's entrance, and they shouldered their way through the crowd to accost them.

"I didn't know you could bloody act!" Ron yelled with typical tactlessness, hugging her with crushing force, and Hermione rolled her eyes but flushed at the compliment as he released her.

Harry grinned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he kissed the side of her head. "I think what Ron means is you were bloody great."

"Well yeah," Ron nodded eagerly, "But especially considering all that shit with Ma-"

"This is Caroline!" Hermione cried, cutting Ron off before he could say anything too incriminating and tugging Caro forward to introduce her to the two young men. "Caro, meet Ron and Harry, my best friends from… um…"

"From home-school?" Caro said pertly, shaking her head and laughing when Hermione stuttered nervously. "Well wherever you're from, it's lovely to meet you."

"Likewise," said Harry, reaching forward to shake Caro's proffered hand. "You were excellent up there as well."

Ron was uncharacteristically quiet, staring at Caro with slightly widened eyes until Harry laughed and elbowed him in the ribs, whereupon Ron's ears reddened and he started spluttering, "Yeah, you were…yeah."

To Hermione's surprise Caro giggled, casting her eyes down to her shuffling feet as a pretty pink blush spread over her cheeks.

Hermione glanced between the two of them, then caught Harry's eye and grinned widely. He raised an eyebrow at her, a smile stealing across his face as he watched Ron practically swallow his tongue. Hermione shook her head, laughing, as she slipped out from under Harry's arm and went in search of Draco.

His distinct, silvery head was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione frowned to herself. She could see Blaise on the other side of the room introducing Ed to Theo and Luna. Judging by the expression on Ed's face and the way that Blaise was laughing and Theo cringing, the blonde witch had just said something typically outlandish. Neville and Ginny were at the bar, jostling one another comfortably as they ordered drinks.

Keeping her head down in order not to be pulled into conversation with any of the other cast-members, most of whom seemed to be catching up with friends and family from the audience, Hermione slipped across the room and out of the door that led to the street. It was late, and for a moment she simply stood and relished the cool and quiet. The sound of voices had her turning towards the narrow alleyway that ran behind the theatre, and she nearly ran straight into Narcissa Malfoy's ramrod-straight back where she stood tucked into the wall, clearly having a heated exchange with her son.

"Ah, how fortunate, perhaps you can explain." Narcissa's tone was sharp, her expression stony as she glared at Hermione, who immediately looked to Draco for a clue as to what was going on. Wordlessly he reached for her and tucked her against his side as he faced off against his mother, whose eyes had narrowed at the action.

"Mrs…Mrs Malfoy?" Hermione fought the hesitation in her voice and lifted her chin to meet Narcissa's eyes.

"It takes one to know one," said Narcissa darkly, and Hermione felt Draco stiffen beside her.

"Mother. I don't know what you think is going on, but I have absolutely no-"

"Am I to understand that the two of you are not married, then?"

Hermione gaped at her, and from Draco's silence she expected that he was similarly flummoxed by this. After a moment's pause he seemed to gather himself, "I cannot fathom how you came to that conclusion, Mother, but do you honestly think that I would take a bride without at least  _ informing  _ you of the fact?"

Something softened slightly in Narcissa's expression but she was still eyeballing Hermione in a way that made her distinctly uncomfortable. "No, my darling. I do not. However it remains to be explained why, when I stopped off at Alphard's house on my way from Paris I happened to notice that his family tapestry is showing a union between yourself and  _ Lady Hermione Granger _ ."

Feeling her stomach swoop, Hermione wasn't certain whether she was more inclined to laugh or be sick. Draco's fingers had tightened on her waist as he stared at his mother. "I don't…" he said slowly.

"The  _ Galahadrius _ ," Hermione exclaimed suddenly, causing both Malfoys to turn their eyes to her. Draco's face showed dawning comprehension but Narcissa's was unreadable, her thinly pressed lips permitting Hermione to continue. "It's… purity of heart, purity of intention." She flushed, suddenly unable to meet Draco's eye, let alone his mother's. "If the charm was properly administered, and Draco if your intentions towards me are…um…well, honourable, then when we…" she trailed off, feeling her face burning.

Narcissa was the first to speak. "You mean to say, Miss Granger, that the two of you had  _ relations _ ," Hermione winced at the word and didn't have to look to know that Draco would be doing the same, "in a house that has several ancient blood wards upon it, in close proximity to a tapestry spelled with pagan fidelity magic?"

Hermione chanced a look at her and was astonished to see the barest hint of a smirk playing about Narcissa's mouth, making her look suddenly, uncannily like Sirius. "Lady Hermione Granger.  _ Fons venificia _ ," Narcissa murmured, "Of course."

The pair of them gaped at her and Narcissa snickered slightly, "It really is a shame that the old ways are no longer taught."

"I was going to ask you for Grandmother Druella's ring," Draco blurted, and Hermione transferred her stare to him, seeing the colour creep up the back of his neck as he held his mother's gaze.

Narcissa's smile turned gentle, indulgent. "And you shall have it," she said simply, her eyes moving from her son to the witch tucked beneath his arm, and back again. "But I think that I will leave you to bask in your thespian success, for now."

Hermione couldn't think what to say, could barely breathe as the full impact of Draco's words sank into her. She hardly even noticed when Narcissa disapparated, but then Draco was talking again and she was staring at him as the words tumbled over themselves – "It's very quick I know" and "You don't have to say anything now" and "I really don't expect" and –

"I love you," she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "And you're right, it is quick, but I'm under no illusions about what we are to one another."

Draco cocked his head, lashes shimmering in the moonlight as he stared down at her, "Do you mean-"

"We've got the play to finish, of course, and then exams, and this is only our first year so it couldn't be for a while yet but-"

"Is that a yes, Granger?"

She wrinkled her nose at him, eyes dancing, "I – yes – that is – to his honours and his valiant parts –"

Draco's hand covered her mouth as his eyes closed briefly, his face relaxing into the sweet, soft smile that Hermione had come to love so very much. When he looked down at her again his gaze was burning, and wordlessly he nudged her back against the wall of the alleyway, pressing a knee between her legs and trailing his hand down her thigh to hitch it up against his hip as he bent to press a kiss to her temple.

" _ Othello  _ doesn't seem very appropriate, all of a sudden," he muttered, as he finally moved his hand from her lips to cup her jaw. His breath was hot on her skin.

"There's always next year's play," Hermione murmured, arching into him as his hand made its way up her skirt and did something utterly exquisite.

Draco paused, staring into her eyes, before giving a mischievous little grin. "I do love nothing in the world so well as you - is not that strange?"

Hermione actually laughed with delight, running her hands up his back to twine them around his neck, "For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?" Her cocky expression faded when he moved the pad of his thumb against her and she gave a sharp moan.

"Peace," Draco whispered, his lips hovering millimetres from hers, "I will stop thy mouth."

**..~o finis o~..**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an epilogue to follow, but I hope very much that you enjoyed this.
> 
> It's Much Ado that they quote to one another at the end; another favourite, and the happiest of happy endings.


	26. Epilogue: From this time forth

**_November 2005_ **

Harry was shattered by the time he arrived at St Brigid's Magical Midwifery in Boston. As soon as the charmed galleon on his desk had lit his whole office blue with the news that Hermione had gone into early labour he'd scratched off a quick note to assure a very pregnant Ginny that he wouldn't be gone longer than was necessary and headed straight down to the DMT. He'd had to play his 'Chosen One' trump card to bully the clerk into issuing him with a permit to use an emergency four-portkey chain via Iceland, Greenland and Nova Scotia, but it was worth it to be the first of their friends to arrive.

He strode into the private room the mediwitch had directed him to and started laughing the moment he saw Draco staring down into the bundle of blankets in his arms, wonder and utter shock warring for dominance over his pale features.

"For the love of Salazar, shut up!" Draco hissed, jerking his head to where Hermione lay sleeping, cheeks faintly pink and her hair in absolute disarray.

"Sorry Ferret, it's just  _ your face _ . You look like you got confunded again, slipped some amortentia, and then made to go two rounds with a-"

"Potter." Draco raised a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, shifting his armful of baby awkwardly. His voice was low but the exasperation in it cut through Harry's chatter. "Would you please  _ be quiet _ ?"

Harry took note of the smudges beneath Draco's eyes, and the fact that he looked even paler than usual. It wasn't really all that surprising, given that Hermione's water had broken over a month before her due date, right in the middle of a seminar she was attending on Dekker's usage of the Vigenère cipher as part of her Mastery at the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy. By the looks of things Draco's usual cool equanimity had been thrown off somewhat by his firstborn's early arrival. How very appropriate, Harry mused, that the Malfoy-Granger offspring was already proving himself startlingly precocious. Narcissa would be thrilled. Speaking of which...

"Is your mother not here?"

"She went back to the townhouse to fetch a few things." Draco heaved a sigh, his wide-eyed gaze returning to the bundle in his arms. Harry frowned, eyeing him more closely. He remembered his own state of utter bewilderment holding James for the first time nearly two years ago, and something about Draco's demeanour was off. There was the usual terror of a first-time father, but there was also an undercurrent of utterly un-Malfoy-like panic.

If the past six and a half years had taught him anything, Harry knew that sometimes the best policy with Draco was just to bluster through, so he thrust his arms out enthusiastically. "Pass him over then, I want to get a good look at my godson."

Draco's eyes shot up to meet Harry's, his expression full bunny-in-headlights, and Harry felt the first stirrings of real unease. He hadn't seen Draco this off-kilter since he'd been offered the job as junior envoy to the Magical Congress in New York, and had managed to convince himself Hermione would break off their engagement if he took it. A series of blazing rows, an application to transfer her Mastery studies to MIT, and a hastily expedited wedding would indicate that Draco had been worried over nothing. Whatever bee the blonde wizard had in his bonnet now was probably something similarly idiotic, so Harry chose the route of bluntness.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Not godson," Draco half-whispered, "Goddaughter."

Harry felt his eyebrows pull together in confusion, "I thought the mediwitches confirmed it was a boy? Can't they get anything right over here?"

Draco glowered at him, swallowing hard before he answered, "Apparently it can…they can…it messes up the accuracy of the charm when…" The inarticulacy was so out of character, and Draco's expression so overwhelmed, that Harry decided to take matters quite literally into his own hands and grabbed the baby from the blonde wizard's grasp. Draco made a faint growl of protest, but relinquished his daughter to her godfather all the same.

Harry got about a two-second look at a perfectly doll-like little face, a hint of Hermione's button nose and Draco's grey eyes topped with the faintest wisps of silver-blonde curls, before the baby blinked, the newborn shade of her eyes taking on a vaguely green hue, and the silvery strands of hair darkening to jet black.

There was absolute silence in the room for a good thirty seconds, and then Harry looked up at Draco, his expression as thunderstruck as the blonde wizard's. "Your daughter is a  _ metamorphmagus _ ?" he asked incredulously. Draco made a helpless movement that was half-shrug, half-nod, and Harry felt an irresistible bubble of laughter. "Oh Godric," he wheezed, handing the little girl back to her father before he dropped her. "This is too much," he managed to choke out eventually, as his laughter began to subside. "First you manage to knock Hermione up by accident and then your kid is  _ a fucking metamorphmagus _ !"

Harry saw Draco wince at the reminder that his daughter was the result of an overenthusiastic consumption of champagne on his and Hermione's first wedding anniversary, and the subsequent christening of the Persian rug in the upstairs living room of their Back Bay townhouse. He could, however, also see the beginnings of a smile tugging at the edges of Draco's mouth. One of Draco's fingers was stroking softly over the baby's hair, which had turned silvery again as soon as she was back in her father's arms.

"It's good to see you, Potter," Draco said quietly, his voice markedly less tense than before. "But please, no swearing in front of the baby."

* * *

 

**_June 2006_ **

"Well, Draco has another year to go on the posting in New York, and of course Deputy Head Barrows will be retiring from International Magical Cooperation at around the same time, so a move back to London would make sense. Hermione will have finished her Mastery by then, so naturally..." Harry, having heard the plans from the horses' mouths, stepped away from where Narcissa was holding court in a corner of the parlour of the Spitalfields House. On the other side of the room Draco was engrossed in a conversation with Theo, Ron and Neville about the arrangements being made for the Quidditch World Cup, to be held in Paris in a little over a month. Teddy was stuck to Neville's side like a limpet, and Harry smiled to himself at the sight of Neville's hand absently resting on the boy's blue hair.

He was conscious that he hadn't seen Hermione, Ginny or Caroline for a while, and that the objects of the name-day were also absent, and decided to go and track them down.

"Original Magic's a very funny thing when you mix it with the old bloodlines," Andromeda was saying to Luna when Harry stepped into the entrance hall of the Spitalfields House. "All those years of inbreeding, and finally the chance for a bit of free expression." She took a sip of her champagne and smiled warmly at Harry over Luna's shoulder. "At least, that's what the mediwitch said when I had Nymphadora." Her expression turned faraway, and Luna laid a hand on her arm as Harry slipped past them to climb the stairs.

He found the three women in the study, each carrying a sleeping child. Harry had been worried about the number of pumpkin pasties that had gone missing in James's vicinity earlier in the day, but given the growing patch of drool where his eldest son's head was resting on Ginny's shoulder, the sugar rush had abated relatively quickly.

Caroline was holding Albus, who had been born two weeks after Sagitta. Molly had been a little put out when she was informed that Narcissa had offered to host a joint name-day in London, and so the hospitality of the Burrow wouldn't be required, but after a tentative first meeting the two older witches seemed to have found plenty of common ground in a mutual love of party-planning. Ron had been relieved to have Molly distracted - he'd told Harry the last time they'd gone to the Leaky together that she was dropping hints with all the subtlety of a Norwegian Ridgeback about when he and Caroline might want to start a family. Seeing how naturally the dark-haired woman held Albus, Harry wasn't sure how much longer Molly would have to wait.

He cleared his throat from where he stood by the door, and the three women shot him smiles before turning their attention back to the silken tapestry. Harry soon realised what had caught their attention, as he watched embroidery appear as though made by a disembodied hand. Two portraits:  _ Sagitta Rose Malfoy _ , and on a nearby branch  _ Albus Severus Potter _ .

"That thing is never going to not creep me out," he muttered, once the two names were complete. The tapestry rippled slightly, and he felt a vague sense of disapproval settle over his shoulders, making him shudder. Caroline shot him a sympathetic glance, but Ginny and Hermione both laughed, making Sagitta lifted her head, blinking sleepy brown eyes at her mother as she clearly tried to work out whether or not to cry at the disturbance. Catching sight of Harry over Hermione's shoulder, Sagitta's hair shifted from its usual corona of silvery ringlets into tufts of black and she reached her pudgy hands for her godfather.

"Thank Godric," Hermione sighed, as Harry moved into the room to take the little girl from her. "My arms were going dead."

"Lucky you," groused Ginny, shifting her weight to her other foot and trying to resettle James against her shoulder. Harry shot her a sympathetic look as he hefted Sagitta in the crook of his arm. Behind him, Draco appeared in the doorway. "I felt something in the wards?"

"Harry insulted Uncle Alphard's tapestry," Hermione grinned.

Draco glanced at the silken panel, "I missed it updating?"

"You were mingling," Hermione placed her hands against his chest and lifted onto her toes to press a kiss to his petulant mouth. "We didn't know how long it would take, and I didn't want to drag you away."

"I was only talking to stupid Ron," Draco muttered, and was met with a chorus of "Hey!"s from the other occupants of the room, and an indignant "Oi!" from where the wizard in question had just followed him in.

Sighing dramatically, Draco plucked Sagitta from Harry's arms, prompting her hair to shift into the bright pink that usually indicated delight.  _ "You'll _ be on Daddy's side, won't you sweetheart?"

* * *

 

It was late that evening, after all the guests were gone and Sagitta had finally settled, that Hermione came back into the study and found Draco staring at the moonlit tapestry, deep in thought. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, settling her cheek between his shoulderblades. "It was weird not having Blaise and Ed here today."

Draco's hand smoothed along her forearm, "I know. Blaise owled to say they were planning to stop in Boston on their way back from Mexico, so we'll see them next month." The two were on location for a road movie that Blaise had landed a fairly major role in, and had sent their apologies for missing the day, as well as a stuffed arctic fox that was about four times as big as Sagitta and had required three owls to deliver.

Sensing that Draco remained pensive, Hermione nuzzled further into him. "I'm sorry you missed her appearing."

Instead of answering, Draco took hold of her arms, prising apart her grip and pulling her round in front of him. "There's always next time." He laughed at the look on Hermione's face, and leaned down to bump her nose with his. "I'm still very keen on the name Scorpius."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so supportive! I have more works over on FFnet (same username) but I will be adding more on here. Much love xxx


End file.
